I remember the lavender scent on your laundry and the taste of your chapstick on my lips.
I was your moon and starts over the valleys of the ones and only.
My heart was your fire place in the cold Alaskan winter.
For the way we used to be.
You used to be my rock.
You used to be my bridge.
For you were my sunrise and sunset.
Tell me that fern I left as a sign of our love hasn’t withered from all the heat I left behind.
Promise me the soft heavenly cotton-like love we once laid our heads on hasn’t worn you out.
For we used to be perfect lovers in a perfectly imperfect word but the love was imperfectly perfect in its ways.
For I loved you for the better and worst.
We used to be rain drops from the clouds up above watering the garden of love that we called home.
We used to be two apple on a tree, but my stem gave up on holding on so you could stay.
We used to be rose petals along with your many lovers, yet my petal was the one to fall and watch you hold others.
When we made love under the shinning sky full of stars you promised as long as the stars will be shinning I will always be your lover.
However there you disappeared when the first rays of the sun shone upon us and you took the starts with you.
And you took along your love and promises.
Hence that’s the way we used to be.