Certain of only our love.
Yet neither of us feeling it fully.
Too much doubt and pain.
The forest of our love killing us.
Slowly blocking out the light.
Dreams dying among the leaf litter.
The hardest nights are the ones where you’re here, but then you leave.
When we laugh and we joke and we speak and we shout and we argue and we smile.
When I’m reminded what family feels like.
Then you go and the life leaves the house.