A Myth of Love

December has passed, your ghost is now gone; it no longer lingers in the hallways of my mind. You only enter through my doors from time to time, but never to say, "Hello" or "How are you?" Your visits can only mean somber seconds, and then just as soon as you're here,      you're gone. Summer has arrived and almost passed. Your face has became a still-frame picture etched into my brain. Your actions are now a myth, a story passed along and changed accordingly. You may have been real, but just as easily, you may have never happened at all. Now, there's nothing to show of you, except words,      a myth of your love.