the sun entered your eyes
when they met hers
and the way you held her in photographs
defines love in a way my words cannot.
i can see what love is,
but my heart is closed and cold, chiseled
from unforgiving stone, and I will never
understand the warmth.
I cannot see the way you look at me
or if the moon resides in your eyes.
I do not like photographs; the way they
distort the perfect
pictures in our minds.
So I may never know the definition of us.
Silenticel 