After a handful downpour of tears clinging onto your cheek bones,
like a skin turning into fossil slowly dragging itself off the skeleton,
that once existed as its inhabitant,

All those years that broke into momentum,
adjusting the lamps that never felt obligated to fill its own oil,
maybe in your head it felt as though he completed the alphabet so effortlessly,
while in reality he did nothing till the candle's light burn out,

It is then you realize,
love ain't suppose to hurt that much
all those little gestures manipulating the organ to the "one day" moments,
slips itself out of your fingers,
into thin air, that it now becames an expert of echoing silent

The next time you see him off the street,
with flowers in his hands gripping onto the orchestration of melodies,
that which he so good of playing,
you are drove into...