Today I saw photographs of you I’d forgotten about. And the breath I took in was taken back out; returned. My stomach sank and touched my toes. My mouth went from rainforest to desert.

You make everything ordinary almost too beautiful to bear. When I remember you, you are not a photograph. I’m not thinking of your perfect mouth – made for love. Not your hair, like a veil across your face. I remember art. Art that slows the world down to a stop. Heavies your step and tunes out the sound.

Vulnerable and magnificent. Tender and unforgettable. You are in every breath taken. Your name is where God should be.

Missing now, are my knees. Last seen buckling at the sight of you.