His hands were small, pale, and cold
but I held them in mine anyways

His eyes half lidded and sunken in
were dark and sad

He kept talking about drinking
and cigarettes and dreams and her
he told stories of her
and I felt his own tears
on our entwined fingers

My voice quivered comforting words
I kissed the mourning off his lips
his mouth curved into a tiny smile
forgetting the hurt only for a moment

He was a not so dead ghost
haunted by a dead one