Vapor

When I am old and grey...may be too dismal to see or hear the footsteps on pavement...then like a blind mice to feel the touch of rain...the tear drop from a passer-by...no distance has ever fought harder to say the words...without even a whisper...I know she is there...all traces of her existence washed away by innocent...the price we must bear to etch the fabric...once the last meeting...yet we repeat the ovature of time...again and again...