Your words linger in the air as I return from watching the car pull away.
I lay on the floor, as your sentences settle into the carpet.
If only every hour you spent staring into my eyes was captured
in a photograph, I could then pretend that time is tangible.
All it is, is a straight line. A series of events, a past, a present, and you.
You're all I'm hoping for in the road that lies ahead of me.
It's only you.