The cold familiar chill
of November mornings
now comes with despondent
wakings.

Sleepless nights on cold
gray sheets of stone.

Tired lovesick limbs
reaching for home.

Thoughts spoken in solemnity
to the dark.

Oh how these nights
they go leaving a yearning
in my heart.

My dearest Olivia,

I write this letter with a heavy heart and yet, an even heavier hand. This vessel takes on water as I blot these old pages with ink. I hold your memory close as flame to a well-oiled wick. Cherishing our fondest moments spent together, and letting them keep me warm in this frigid cold.

The way your ivory slip would rest on your shoulders so delicately as we strolled through the fields of home. How the wind would gently pass through your deep flowing auburn hair, and how sweetly I would tuck the free-flowing strands behind your ears.

I desperately yearn to be back home by your side in the comfort of our chamber, with my hand interlaced with your hair, as the glorious yellow rays seep through our window and slowly fill the room with luminous light.

We shall be together soon, I fear not. And I shall wait to see your hurried steps on heavens golden shores. Weep not for me or for this loss. The sea is beckoning me home.

I hope this letter finds you. I love you,

-W.A.

The dim-lit screen from a phone acts as a single candle for the room shrouded in cold black.

I make my way to what was once our bed and slowly slipway under its empty cover.

Isolated and desolate, I lay there.
Accompanied only by your ghost.

The sweet soft impression that your head would have made into the pillow that lay next to me in silence, serves as a despondent memory that is just as cold as the air that fills this room.

The low singing melodies dancing from the dim-lit phone's speaker only help to fill the void, replacing the soft breaths you would take in and out in your calm rest.

I miss greatly your warmth and your mid-night embrace, the way you nestled your tired head into the crook of my arm, seeking the warmth, comfort, and security it did provide.

All I have now is your ghost. A faded memory, slipping away into the night. And I don't clutch it any tighter now, as I used to. Instead, I let it slip freely through my fingertips and I make peace with the night.

I'll close my eyes and let the sun kiss me good morning in place.