Pictures and emotions cannot form
the words that described my love for you.
Subtle forms and delicate shapes of memory
that have faded over the years
are now poisoned by the ink from my pen,
the spit from my words,
the bile from my thoughts,
and the salt from my tears.
As the wind blows anticipating change,
the horizon shines promising a brighter tomorrow;
and I have come to realize, and to accept,
that the horizon doesn't shine for me.