Stuck in Time

The clocks speak of
moments, hurried and brittle,
with your voice a whisper in a gale.
These wings were not enough
to keep me aloft,
these lungs not fit
for such high altitudes--
this heart, not as golden
as your hair, nor as brilliant
as I imagined you to be.
Shadowed eyes
and quiet fingertips
that never quite touch
beyond the surface hello;
scant impression, small comfort
through long nights, remembering
all that never came to pass--
too many hours spent wishing
on stars that have already died,
halfway across a galaxy
that never noticed you were missing.