I snapped your photograph with my eyes, and the crumbs of a love dream- are all that remain.
The picture in my mind- of us, and of what we were to become, has slowly diminished- the way a candle does, when it burns for too long.
You and I each, had flames once... and we could have molded the wax- to become ONE large candle- the passion, I mean the flame, would have been as hot as ever...
But it's not, and something like hot wax bleeds from within my eyes. To make conversation, I'd ask if I had something on my face- a streak maybe, but the distance between us is too great, and you are too far away.