The best time to leave us in September,
neither too cold, nor hot.
But as it seems,
the only weather I feel,
is the wind of your chilling presence.
Too cold for me to think,
I can no longer feel your touch,
your gifts no longer serve moral value to me.
And although my greatest wish has come true,
the faintest touch is no longer there.
I can no longer feel your touch,
faintly gathering onto my lips.
The whispers of your voice,
I can no longer hear.
Goodbye my love,
for this world is too pure,
for an angel like you.
-Em
