It's a soft, gentle thing
There at the edge of my mind
It greets me with a gentle wave
Breathing words barely defined

It's not that I miss you when you're not around
There's no impending need
Only gentle wonderings about times never spent
Memories that won't be made, witnessed singly by me

In them there is another world almost
Some other time that won't pass
We meet, perhaps, in a glen of green
Or on a rolling hill of grass

I find you there alone
Pondering mysteries
We share our thoughts together
On living now, on old histories

When I snap back to now I still see you
But we swim in separate seas
An ocean swirls between us
Far, expansive, and deep

I only write to tell you
That I know our paths won't meet
Like I sometimes imagine them
On a faraway, nonexistent street

I don't ask myself how your lips taste
Are your kisses sweet?
I never wonder about the feel of your hair
Locks brushing against my cheek

Most of my thoughts
Never bubble to the top
They just boil and brew near the bottom
I leave them to slide down and drop

They gently pass when ignored
It's not some deep, throbbing sting
I do wonder about it sometimes, though
It's a soft, gentle thing

Penned by my hand on the 14th of Sarapin, in the year 909 AF.