Sometimes I have hope that I'll find someone that will make me as happy as You did, 

and other times I find myself lying lonely in a pitiful puddle of tears, 

filing through the pages of our epic love story.

Now, the air hangs humid and heavy with the promise of Spring,

smelling sickly-sweet like honeysuckle,

smoky like barbecue,

and earthy like freshly-mowed grass.

The birds echo their delicate songs,

the wind whispers Your name,

and I am undone. 

You always liked Spring the best.

You said it was because Spring offers the opportunity of a fresh start,

a clean slate,

a brief moment where everything is new.

But you're not here anymore,

and I don't want 'new' if I can't share it with you.