he woke up one morning,
and the hands he had
were no longer meant to hold me
to wipe away my tears.
the eyes he had,
were no longer meant to gaze into mine
being filled with awe and wonder.
his hair,
was no longer meant for me to run
my cold fingers through
making me feel warm
I remember those moments in time
I'd be memorized by him
his every feature
his every movement,
by the way he'd look at me, and
how he'd
tell me about his father.
but now,
his heart is no longer meant for me
it is no longer beating
to the sound of my voice.