It was the uprooted romanticism. That solid concrete nostalgic memory that I buried deep down inside...

You whisper the same words they did. It rolls off your tongue, like velvet. As I watch the tortuous haze evaporate into the air, I breathe in deep. I desperately want to taste the faint recollective moistness on my lips. Instead it trickles down my back, condensations of feeling seep into my pores. You don't even know what you have done...triggered.

I stand, secreted. Grey mists bracelet and absorb me. They always said I was in a world of my own. I won't apologize. I'm in awe of those simple, unintentional words that have floated so innocently out of your mouth.

I'll never forget that they once said them. I'll never forget how you have mirrored those words and the reflection is so beautiful to me. Never better than the original, but close to perfect.

You won't even know. You won't even know the effect you have had on my heavy eye lids and clenching stomach. I'll tell you one day, How you moved me. You'll think I am insane. That I will take.