Gates Poem by Emma Atkinson

I find it impossible that I should have loved so.
And if love is something we deem unbreakable,
Then surely I am wrought of iron,
But it is those very gates we forged, that keep me from you.
Through them, I can only catch glimpses of you,
Every so often, when I am drunk from dreaming over the past,
Each memory heavy against my throat, as wine,
I see your eye in the mirror.
I remember it so vividly,
Blue marbles dancing in the winter light,
Sunshine, even though there was none.
We walked past gates, laughing, and sat upon the crest of a hill,
Me dreaming, and you the dream.