It was the summer of 2005 when my hand trembled while holding yours.
About a few weeks from the time you kissed me good morning, we shall be heading on for the days we have painted all our lives. The breeze continued to lick our dry faces, as if to give us a hint of how our coffees will soon taste. When we took the first few steps to my apartment, you tucked few strands of my hair behind my ear and hugged me loosely.
I did. I did surround my bruised arms around your waist and gently lifted your sweater, then your shirt, to make contact with your bare skin.
I have failed, though. As soon as I tried, I have already failed.
I have failed to reach the tips of your fingers when I held your hand; it contained all the secrets, all the places you have quietly created to make sense of the many voices you hear when you dream a good dream.
I have failed to make you a warm cup of coffee which you asked this afternoon, when it was snowing out and you could no longer feel the soles of your feet. A regret- it is safe to say. What grew in the vapor of my coffee were our little memories- that of which my lips could not speak.
I have failed, love. I have failed to embrace you. I have failed to embrace the nights you ought to bring; I have failed to embrace the days unclear and blurry for I am just an hour in your now. Who am I to have embraced your future?