August 1


My arm extends and falls atop the pillow upon which her head had lain,

My stomach twists and there is an ache in my chest that pills cannot cure.

Only one pillow had decorated the bed, and now there are two,

The second serves as a constant reminder that she had been there,

That I had lost myself in her eyes right there, and she into mine.

My arms had never felt better than when they were wrapped around her.

Now, nothing is there except the pillow and an empty spot in the bed.

When my arm reaches out for her, it grasps only at emptiness,

And I don’t know how to function without her touch.

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Posted August 1, 2012 by Philip in category "Poetry", "Romance

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