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Thrice

I'll die a slow, not so painful emotional death with your eyes as the window to my peace.
I'll wake up the next day with no recollection of the chance that a random moment could amount to a monumental juncture in time.
I'll let the waging war between screaming I miss you one more time and staring at your face, dwindle off into the night. 
I'll fully recover from the one word drop and cold, abrupt responses. 
Painstakingly letting go of that fateful morning when all I felt was that we met before. In some other time or space because there is no way a stranger could feel so familiar, so sure. 
I'll walk upright with a smile, knowing that every moment, every word, written or spoken out loud was never meant for harm. 
I'll make every effort to stop dreaming about possibilities, although I cannot control the mystical musings of my subconscious. 
I'll try to let the moon off the hook for the constant flooding of emotions, how many full moons will it take? 
How many new moons did we have?
Five minutes or forever, everything will be cherished. 

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