When willows blow...

Mark this setting; gently alter the scene around, breathe. Out to catch a small glimpse of steam compared to the cold mist. Let it warm the air around, so your next breath is less sharp, taking the chill from your bones. your neck is where the fresh air takes you by surprise, the place that was once warmed, with your body pressed, fitting elegantly with mine. Those were the chills I embraced. it seems harder now; instead I'm fighting a losing battle, to remind myself of you. Wanting your ever guiding love to take me, stay there, lifting me up above everything I've ever known, felt. You became part of my soul, part of me that I didn't want to let go of. you should have realised, my soul is made up of paper, tissue. There on it, my story, often rained on - the romanced ink runs, and when it dries, the paper tears. ever so disjointedly, I feel it now, fragments missing from what used to be. Torn out, is the only part of the only page in that book that it was my desire to keep - You were on that page.