Two Minutes Too Late and the Clock Struck June.

We fell, two miles too far down to count the days ahead... Two hours too late for me to forgive myself, I kissed him in the morning when the clock struck... five... and tears covered me in a bath of fear... I asked him if he knew, if he understood, as he mumbled and held me in his sleep. Two days passed and I watched the sunset, I found it far too hot to breathe. I wondered, as I circled, as I watched him in memories, as I watched his face glow and fade... I wondered where the comfort of January ran... I wondered if he swallowed it as I brushed my tongue across his open mouth when he whispered the promises I knew, even then, he wouldn't keep. And hope was funny, she stayed by my side for two months plus three, I found myself waking up in May, amidst the lilacs and unusual heat, I wanted to close my eyes and let my lashes fall down as they tickled tomorrow so maybe.. he'd see... but obsessions are addictions and he had an affiliation with the color blue. “I love you,” I told him, with eyes wide open when the clock struck two...but I was three months too late and my heart held onto January for the fear of sight in June.