I miss love letters, written in moon light. I miss sunflowers beaming in make shift vases. I miss sighs of reverie, warm hands, shared tea cups. I miss feeling anything but grey. I miss having conviction. I miss my rose tinted glasses.
The stranger in the mirror moves her lips as I do. Touches her face as I do. But her wispy hair and empty eyes are devoid of charm and if I don't know any better her soul is dead to the world. What a shame.