My winters sentence has expired, but failed to exempt this melancholy expression. An itinerary, to be wed this fair season of spring; deliverance of that unspoken vow had fatefully parted in passing. If growing ancient together stood no chance against kismet, then perhaps an anniversary such as this was only meant to mark the beginning of our story.
On to the tale; the fable of a shell-shocked boy and his invisible lass, a muse to marvel from an insecure distance. Naive to an unforgotten past, timid times beckoned for a salubrious voice; or prospective pen pal. Capable of only diluted drips; the subdued ink found passage down pure parchment paper. Ambiguous as predicted but attractive all the same; just enough to indulge and rattle ones curiosity.
After the clock had finally defeated obscurity; our metrical verses materialized into that very first glimpse, shyly beneath the lower east side lantern. Marvelous as you were, I thought we both carried ourselves ever so well. Comfortable was the opening intention, as I coveted you to be. But for I, mostly awestruck; bewildered to how someone could even give a damn about me. I fretted much and echoes remind me to this day still; counting the endless times my dinner utensils were nervously dropped. Gravity was completely nonsensical.
Was I to be blamed? The pretend poet was defenseless, stumbling for his true locution. Notably, moments like that are missed beyond the measure of words.