I know his heart I’ve swum in its oceans 

I’ve sheltered in that warmth 

I am not empty without him

I remain all that he gave. 

  Over the woodland the path takes  two different routes. One to the sea down tracks of windswept sands and bracken. 

The other takes you deep into the forest, it’s winding roots pave the way. Branches reach to you like contorted arms through mottled sunlight. 

The windswept path is my most traveled one. On sultry evenings the salty air clings to your skin, like a delicate coating of Iridescent stardust. 

I never walked with you here, yet it’s  where you fill my heart, my thoughts. Here surrounded by these scenes I cherish.

In a certain light his eyes are the deepest blue.Like summer skies warm, inviting.

They contradict what his soul emits. Like the east wind on the cliff top raw, biting. 

Don’t stumble, don’t fall. He won’t save you. Those bluest eyes will just watch as you grasp for understanding.

“The windows of the soul” such a romantic notion. Eyes are a pretence not unlike the ocean. Such breathtaking depth, but so often just shallows.