The Lasts...

The last time we embraced... I didn't want to let you go.
The last time we kissed... I didn't want to let go.
The last time we met... I didn't want to go.
The last... I didn't want...

Impressions...

The streetlights, the headlights, a pothole full of rain…
She looks on; she looks through a misty window pane.
She moves on, yet not so. Her body carries on…
She waits there, she stands still, her soul cannot go on.

His eyes that speak, his fragrant breath, his racing heart does stay,
If fate lines meet when fingers entwine, can destinies go astray?

She has seen him go, knows he’s gone, watched him walk away.
Mere impressions yet so real; she feels his presence every day.
For one last time she yearns to hear him call her name…
…not the last time she wonders, ‘Does he feel the same?’