When I think of you it's like watching sepia toned movies in my head,
But you were real. I could hold you until I couldn't.
Yet I can't help but feel you exist in the ether on some alien world that I am not allowed to enter.
Not now, not yet.
But sometimes you punch through so our hands may graze - before gravity pulls you back and reality takes me down to a world where you, according to it's laws, don't exist anymore.
Still, the memory remains. And that brief touch, like having a million conversations, will have to do. Until we walk the sames planes again.
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