Sometimes,
I feel as though I am peering at the world through fuzzy lenses — perhaps glasses of the wrong prescription.

The corner of my eye catches glimpses of you in the light, where you appear in tiny bits of daylight, found in little shreds scattered across the hardwood floor.

Sometimes,
I find myself wasting time, trying to catch each moment with my hands the way that children clutch fireflies and flowers in theirs in the summertime.

You exist in every crevice of my mind, where images of you dancing in sweet sunshine blur together in endless, perpetual bliss.
I fear for when my vision fades completely and each picture dissolves
    further,
           further,
                    further,
into fuzz — perhaps because it was never meant to be.