“...I pluck every day from my sweater or chair, red hairs...strands of significance, traces of you in my life ...”

“...strands of your hair and tendrils of the wind spin into nothingness the memories of that day...”

“...Use your finger to trace the scar upon my chest- I lied - it wasn't a knife wound, but a scrape from a nail sliding under a fence to see you...”

“...every time I look at you autumn leaves come in between - does it matter they're the color of your hair - or they still fall in my memory?...”

“...you trace a finger over my scar and uncloak me like a timid star...”

“...I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember life exists...”

“...my heart rides the wind and my thoughts sail away - to a land below the horizon where I know you hide from me...”