by MACKENZIE PARTAIN - September 20, 2020
The recollection of her sweet, caring voice,
telling me she loves me
asking me to visit again.
Her warm touch,
But those are just memories now.
The lump forming in my throat when I hear the news.
The feeling of my heart dropping to my stomach.
The sensation of my now crimson face,
as hot as the bonfires where she used to tell stories.
a trail of tears streams down my delicate, puffy face.
That warm touch I once craved
is now stone cold.
I can never feel that warmth again.
All I can do is—