I watched the snow fall, I watched his tears fall. We didn’t speak, but the cold and crisp cold mourning said it all.
Love doesn’t live here. He could not watch her go.
I heard the crunch of cold under his boot, I held my breath my heart calling .. “o please, turn one last time, give me one last look”
Waiting for his goodbye is like stopping, and stalling. On the freeway.
I’m waiting for the storms to pass and the carton of milk to expire.
Staking this heart on a pyre.