I remember
those days.
They are like the memory of
a dream I had forever ago.
They brush my
heart like the ever so soft butterfly wing.
So slight
and brief as the winds blow it onward.
And I wait here, silent and still,
holding tight to the memory, longing for its return,
while I watch the clouds
roll in.
And I fear the delicate encounter is no match for the storms that lie ahead.
Thus, my heart sinks as the beauty slips through
my fingertips,
and I am left wondering
if it will ever return.
Will it ever
stay?
Was it just a dream?