Fog.

Loving him is like writing your name in a foggy window.
The letters will take.
The water twisted into the angles and arches of each letter.
Each bend is clear, each line clean, precise.
How delicate the clarity on a back drop of wet blur.
The light peaks through alphabet, softly catching your eye.
But no one can fight nature, the outside temperature fights its way through.
The cold wind blows against the mosaic of dew,
All the warm thoughts, warm finger tips, warm blood can't stop it.
The arches will fall, the lines will recede.
Those bends will straighten and the angles will follow.
After a few silent minutes, its like nothing was there,
like no seconds passed, your heart did not beat, the sound never reverberated.
Just another blurry view, outside of a foggy window.