plainly; i want to don that sweater you hand knitted for me, sit by the bedside and slowly, just slowly sift through all the old photographs we took of each other; remembering, that somehow, perhaps, in the distance i can catch that familiar laughter of yesteryear. i clung on tightly to every parchment in my hands trying, with what my body and spirit was capable of to feel your skin brush gently against mine, or to wipe those tears streaming down your wrinkled face, or to run my fingers through your grey-white hair. oh, they were beautiful. yes, you were beautiful, and it pains me even more so that, all my life i have never said that to you; and now saying it alone, to myself, it seems foolish all of a sudden how something so stark, so apparent could have not caught my attention. oh no. that's not true. you did exactly so back then, when at a call of your name you turned your head with such feminine grace and your then-black hair gently swept across the air, floating seamlessly, finally landing neatly on your womanly shoulders. i could never forget that moment for it was a moment of sheer beauty and like they always say, beauty only happens once. but right now even as the fireplace burns, and her yellow-orange hues spread evenly across the room, there will always, always be some nook, some cranny that this light can never reach; it remains dark, it remains unspoken of for there is only regret.

.

(please don't think too much of this. i'm just tired out from the labour of the day and as always whenever i am fatigued, words such as these flow but they mean nothing. however feel free to give me your comments about it, ha. i do wish to learn and improve)