The Attic
Knows I need her
When I see her in her summer clothes
Knows I'll leave her
When the leaves turn and the cold wind blows

She will wait 'til
'Til I get back home
We will drink wine
In that hidden grove

I don't deserve the candles she lights for me

Weathered window sill
Where the snow spilled into the empty room
Blackened matchsticks
Where the last wick met its lonesome ruin

On the table lay a faded note:
"Headed south with a broken heart and rain-cloud hopes"

Will she remember those candles she lit for me?