1/25/11
The fingers of the hand inside you fit perfectly into mine,
a glove designed to warm us on the coldest days.
It was 4* below this morning.
I reached into my pocket but found you missing,
no trace of your skin,
no clue to begin investigation.
Just a roll of Smarties and some change.
Walking to class my fingertips turned icy,
tears on my cheek frozen from streaming
my candy breakfast devoid of sweetness
the fog of my breath keeping me company.
It's no substitute for you.
When we lay hand-in-hand eternity melts into the present,
a gift I shouldn't have taken for granted but no one warned of changing plans.
No one hit the silent alarm.
No one came close to describing the harm it could cause, the letting go.
The power of a mind like memory foam reliving every indent you left in the bed.
Your shape on the mattress.
Your head to my chest.
Room silent, just our breathing soundtrack keeping time.
Holding tight, intertwined, the hands we keep inside our deepest selves.
I made it through a day where you rode shotgun
kept creeping up to remind me... of what? I'm not sure
but your company was heaven sent,
though hellish and hollow the memo has meaning
as my mind finally rests.
Today brought back the comfort of velvet gloves,
of thick woollen mittens
that I can sew myself with effort and patience.
You showed me a pattern that I'll follow for now.
It may be cold again tomorrow,
but spring's a stone's throw away
and I've got quite the pitcher's arm.
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