by nourayasmine   Apr 14, 2021

It’s cold, twelve degrees below zero.

You’re remembering her face, how the sun
knows exactly where best to toss light,
her pitch black hair playing with
your heartbeat rate,
her teeth chewing on the lower lip
when she’s reading, and
grinding your tired mind.

You know warmth is long gone.
You sometimes forget to wash your face,
you sometimes forget to wake up,
you imagine her
saying that she’ll hold your hand
when you stutter out false realities,
that she’ll refill your medication for you,
kiss the empty patches on your head
where trauma and fear
pulled your hair away.

Even the most dead parts of your world
bend towards the sun
when she’s on your bed.

It’s cold where you are,
you know she’s long gone.


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