Modern Romanticism

I have been here,
leaving a trail
for your ghost
to follow.

But were you ever
coming closer,
recognizing where we
might bring the bloom?

Springtime's innocence,
would designate
summer's remembrance
where we'd splash
in puddles, within our
risen reflections.

I hoped you'd come
to see where a river
meets an ocean,
to know where love
can be free to breathe.

Wishes were close,
while colors were far,
as all our stars
remained at war.

Distance kept us
walking these miles,
embittered in indecision,
fragile in remission.

When we recover,
will we see
who we were meant
to ever be,
under another's light?