i apologise for blogging whole huge chunks at once, but this is really nice *_* it made me tear. lol. maybe it's just damn hormones. it's by luminatii of deviantart
The writing on the bottom left corner:

She decided that there was nothing more beautiful than fogged up windows and "froid" days and listening to Autumn Leaves reverberating off the window panes as they cascade down from lighter branches against the rising of tea steam and things that come around just once a year - she was lucky if he came around once a month.

But it was enough, then. It was enough to hear better words and kiss like birds would if they could and pretend that tomorrow is only one day that is just very long and lasts until the next hello goodbye hello goodbye and until they'd listen to the same songs over and over, dancing on the kitchen floor trying to reenact the days when there were less wrinkles on their faces and smiles were more prominent.

I love you I love you I love you, they would say, and the lights would be down to a soft yellow and it would look even more like autumn that way - that way they could remember better. I'll never forget, they would say, and they never will.

Things like this aren't forgotten. These are things that can be left out on the street like a soggy newspaper in a Manhattan rainstorm and they'd still endure and perhaps even look better, given that little vintage effect that everyone is so fond of nowadays.

I'm saying, I think I love you; but I'd rather hide words and place them in boxes and write letters to no one than say a thing like that out loud. I want to protect it in my warm room with vapor on the windows with rain outside - cobalt, splatter, crack, drip: droplets hanging in midair like blown glass figures that someone left there and then forgot to put the batteries back in the clock so they're kind of just hanging around until I hear you at my door again.

There's romance in shades of brown and blue and gold - you'll see it when we're there on the sidewalk with a coffee and millions of memories under a fire truck red umbrella that can never really compare to the heat we've felt between cold sheets and winter evenings.

Breathe out and let me compare it to the engine's smoke at the station when we said goodbye all those times.

Hello again, dear.

We'll walk under the streetlights until we reach a place where miles have little significance and where people care little for numbers and ticking and arrows so you can tell me that you're holding me with a month's worth of loneliness and I'll smile and lipstick will be superfluous.