these cold hands
don't know how to feel
when you're not around to touch no more
and i'm wearing your old shirt
just to feel like before.

my soul is dirty
and so my love is grey.

i understood why you left me
but it doesn't make it hurt any less.

the world is our garden,
we run like lost children,
hoping for love that will cure us
of this boredom and loneliness
that cave in our battered hearts.

your shirt, i pull closer to me
as i wish i had your arms instead.

but my heart is much colder
than the fallen snow outside my windows.

i cannot cherish you,
and that, i understand.

museums of our lost love
closed in time for the next rounds.

the next breaths.

no art seen by anyone as i will never
let them get close enough to see
how much you truly mattered to me.

because i know no one would understand
what it is that you and i had.