I hear words ringing in my head,
every day.

They are your voice;
your words.

Your existence is to the point where now all things remind me of you.

Scents, sights;
places of fond memories.

Everything.

Why does it hurt?
This heavy feeling of the chest;
it is so, so uncomfortable.

Why?

Tell me why, please.
With that voice of yours,

indulge me.

— Y.H.

a yearning,
gentle fervor.