When I first saw you your eyes were bright, younger than mine. I looked at you and I wondered, you smiled at me and I knew.

You wore white, we were married in July. I slipped my hand in yours and for one moment everything was just so. I held you tight late into the night, afraid that if my fingers fell from your waist then nothing would remain.

The yard was filled with coloured flowers, a wooden home to house our future. I stood there and watched as you walked through the grass, knowing. We were happy, more than I could've believed, at least for a while.

Your smile never quite reached your eyes, your grip on my hand was tighter yet you were pulling away. A mug on the edge of the coffee table, books falling from their shelves, clothes strewn across the floor. We lay on the carpet with my finger tracing your collarbone, you closed your eyes and even then part of me knew.

A whisper, a kiss, a caress, a moment. They were all slipping through your fingers yet you carried yourself with grace, counting the days and noting the time. It was the summer then, days spent walking on familiar streets and nights on the roof when the light had yet to fade away. But then it was autumn and you were falling away like the leaves.

I screamed when you told me. I screamed until my voice went hoarse and my legs came out from under me. There was nothing we could do. There was nothing.

Winter came and your life sped away much faster than mine could, and as much as we wanted anything but, you had to go.

"I'll see you one day," you whispered.

You were laid to rest on a Sunday afternoon, I couldn't speak. You'd left me alone.

How will I live now, as only part of me remains, because you're gone and the streets are a long walk without your hand in mine.

But now it is spring, and the ice is melting.

The day is new.

thanks for reading :)