Happiness entered with love.

Its intensity decreased.

It bursts in random fits now,

Yet it hasn’t fully ceased.

 

I hope due to memory

Of each and every touch;

But I try not to complain –

At least, not so very much.

 

Is this all that’s left behind:

A touch here, a smile there?

Yes, most loving’s done alone,

In dreams built from empty air.

 

But my fear is this

That I will never realize,

If this is love’s truth

As seen from its own eyes?

 

I could free this happiness,

For one that seems more,

But then I remember

I have done this before.

 

Do I need to reach out,

While holding this one true,

And find in other smiles

What I often found in you?

 

Is this what love had to show

To make me notice the grey,

In love’s battle of colours,

Is this how we make it stay?