The Old Flame Still Wins

How many more homes must I visit before I can truly rise from this fall?

With everyone I meet, I check whether they might be you in another form. They never are. The you I still know is etched in every detail of my memory. I still search for you in a sea of people, though it feels impossible that you'd be here. And yet, not once or twice but countless times, I try to make sure we might be allowed a meeting that could actually happen.

Even the most beautiful places never quite let go of you. Once again, the word "beautiful" refuses to come apart from you. I remember that sweet smile and that small, upturned nose of yours. Every step I take in a new place pushes me to write about you there. I want you to always be part of my plans, whether it's a trip to somewhere beautiful or just a visit to the coffee shop near where you grew up.

You still hold the trophy, your name clearly engraved as the winner of all my beautiful plans. You have never turned into anyone else. I still know that sweet face and that cute nose exactly as they were the last time we met. And I always pray that someday, somehow, we will be given a meeting that feels more possible.