I’m smiling, but don’t mean it. I miss how it used to be. I miss how our love was so real; how we cared for each other without end. Most of all I miss you telling me everything would be alright. I need that now more than ever. Without you it’s not going to be okay. B.B.
Lost love is still love.
It takes a different form, that’s all.
You can’t see their smile
or bring them food
or tousle their hair
or move them around a dance floor.
But when those senses weaken another heightens.
Memory. Memory becomes your partner.
You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.