It was strange leaving, like when I was younger, leaving the seashore, still wanting to see more, or waiting at the bus stop in the cold, a somber acceptance molded. I would tuck my hands in my pockets, or around mom's neck like a locket with a blank stare, I could go back to that shore now and bury my heart in the sand, so when I lay down and look up at the dark I would finally feel it - you understand. Unbelievable really, your eyes told me more than anything your body had before - walking along their quiet shores. I saw us in your eyes, I in you and thus I had to leave, didn't say a word save my sleeve. I should have walked, I should have taken that long path through Rock Creek Park, we should have talked about this more before it crept between our sheets in the dark - between our hands, you understand. I thought about the times you glared at me when I acted like a fool but also the moments where you lay, bare and naked before me, not physically; I mean, I could read every line on your skin and tell you were glowing within, and now only weep in the silent evening, save the soft rain and the ground gleaming.

Dewdrops and mist cover the seams that I had missed, from which you could spring forth, a blossom blooming. It dawned a light could lead the way, but with the one I had gone astray I suppose I shall have to endure it like this.

It had been cloudy before, all angry and shouty before, even rain, with a pain that made me ball my fists in the wetness. Now in each drop of what's remaining I see my own reflection, maimed and ghostly, only half of what it was supposed to be - moribund, sullen, fallen. I walk to the park and sit on the grass in the dark, spreading my hands all over the ground, hoping I could somehow soak all the dew back into me. I would still do that for you, you know, soak it all in and throw my shirt, standing, beaming, it seems so nice but now I cannot reach for you, cannot bring myself to do so - should not do so. The ground grows cold, and I hate it now, like a bold baby, hating the quiet cold mocking me. I look up at the stars wishing I could have seen us as they had, beyond the clouds and people in parties where I drank too much - he keeps looking at you. The moon looks large from here. We should have lived there, we were going to live together somewhere. With a tether that would pull us closer as we kissed, closer and closer to bliss. I saw the valley green with spring too, skylark. But now only wander in the mist, listless.