I wrote poems for you.
About the way you made me laugh,
about the songs that made me think of you,
about the way your words ran down my spine,
about the northern lights that shone in your eyes.
But the words are gone now,
missing, like you,
and loss consumes me.
But when we drive for hours,
and the stars are bright about us,
I find the northern lights again.
I hold them in my hand, and they are brighter and clearer than my words ever knew.
And we play our songs,
and I feel your voice and shiver,
and I throw back my head and laugh until tears stream down my face.
The words are lost.
But they were always so much more than just words.