If these pillows could speak

I remember the irony of february we died in each others arms curtains drawn we cried for days that day we died she threw back her veil and proposed the sweetest lie held out her hand and carved it in the stone buried it that day with the weight of our sunken hearts we shattered our best intentions made way fos lasting impressions somtimes the arrow has to go straight throught your heart before finds its home it should reflect purity not passion promote this as you will bui if these pillows could speak they would tell me not to love you anymore