Aug 7
I press my hands
to the shadow of you,
counting the quiet
between your breaths.
you are still here
but the air
already aches
like absence
as if I'm
cradling
your ghost,
begging it to stay.
to the shadow of you,
counting the quiet
between your breaths.
you are still here
but the air
already aches
like absence
as if I'm
cradling
your ghost,
begging it to stay.
