Whatever could it be that has brought me to this loss?
He stubbed the cigarette out, and stood in place, staring at his shoes. Another year, another memory. A card, a sweater, a picture. Chocolates. Flowers. A purple poker chip. They were no different, but they weren't quite the same. The wine was still surging through his mind, like the pressure on his lips. Seven years, and still no trace, but the sensation remained.
He breathed mist, holding a photograph in one hand, fire in the other. The smile on her face hurt him, as the flames licked her skin till it burned his fingertips. He stayed to watch the celluloid char cool down, bent like their souls on a warm winter night. He could set fire to her, year after year, but It would not make him forget. Her kiss would still linger in his skin, until the day he'd find her, and have her kiss him again.
Your love will be safe with me.