Fallen Islands.

     Wide awake, painting the passing layers of hopeful beauty guiding the principles of our love with a splintered brush as we speak out of place, in a tone where we always seek peace within a promise. Particularly I would believe in the dreams drawn upon the ground, forcing the heavens to partake around the subtleties of a heart failing to resolve the conflicts of a sudden lack of light. Where flight has lost a purpose in the existence of our fallen islands, bound into a better time than now.
     Where the meanings behind thoughts afloat stay risen beside the point of our worlds rotation into the grace of an unknown atmosphere, strikingly more precise in structure than this view would appear. If only we were meant to be, searching far beyond the imperfections of the sounds of showers descending into the city air. Developed landscapes revealing the literature of scattered lights rusting away at the borderline of indecision, inquiring that all we need is the night to restore the love we took for granted which has now become less than imagined.
     The question was spoken when I realized the world had changed, the assumption that life never revolved around patient regrets. Considering the possibility of uncertain patterns of rain, misjudging the answer with swift irony all the while revisiting the past with unopened eyes assuring the future mistakes a pardon for a life never sought. What really makes a difference between love and a lack of air is the vulnerability in the outcome, a symbol of a dream unfolding into an interesting idea of finding a better reason for breathing.
     Chasing after the collapsing rivers trying to maintain the integrity of a continuous thought, with interest to improve the slightest quality of a phrase that has such a meaning to crush the souls of lesser men. I have waited lifetimes to find you, with all intentions to replace the original content of our hearts with a rather improved version of love. Likely you would reconsider the world for more of a meek and desolate design, yet somehow if use could be made from the words spilling out of the sky I would enjoy these last few waking moments speaking soft riddles contained in every drop of tear shed with the deepest condolences to you.
     As far as the doubts which concern sly stares and bashful smiles, I would simply state our love as remarkable in response to the life we have created. And as sure as an unforgettable smile towards a boy who never fully understood love, we have prospered with every sand castle proudly made as torment for a life of plain sanity. Regrettably to mention, your view never passed that of your scars. So I shall wait, forever more until a love of often could compete against the gravity you've permitted and in time we can become something more. Perhaps one day our hearts could compromise  in order to avoid further deceptions, if only the beauty I've witnessed in you could be applied to all aspects of life. We would surely be happy.
One day.