Heard your voice tonight, by accident. How long has it been, two, three years? I admit something is still there, but I don't know what it is. Others would say unresolved conflict, as though conflict needs to be resolved in order for resolution to exist. Feelings, many know it to be, and maybe there are correct. But maybe they mistake this for force of habit, a mannerism no longer with a context, signifier without a signified; a dead sign. Who could blame them? The face brings the habit, and with the habit the feelings, or the habit of feeling, when seeing her face, hearing her voice. The past pulls itself back urging you to feel love as you had then, pulling itself closer to you, more habits resurfacing the closer it gets. "This is the face you love, the face you see when you love," it says. Maybe because you've never hurt me that I'm more susceptible to returning to old habits. But I've learned not to live the past in the present. I'm not exhuming a corpse, however beautifully preserved. What if you never died? What if you only waited for me until it was right? But, in the beginning, why did you even wait, if you had the chance? I know this is not the right line of reasoning, though this is a very enticing, tempting one. This one is the easy way out. How do I write a love poem now? Geez.