Years Later

in the dream of last night, your hair was dyed darkest brown (when its sandy brown was what I knew) but I loved you still. you looked at (and through) me with still-blue eyes that spoke the chance I lost once, long before I even knew what I had missed but you reached out arms I could but hope ached as mine had ached embracing fear (that was my soul) and holding peace despite the truth that I failed to see (or I did see, but would not believe): that you changed your hair but still did not love me.