The ghost of your hand rests on my skin,
Raising bumps on my flesh while I'm perfectly warm.
The echo of your words continuously whispered into my ears,
My heart skips a beat at the sound of your voice.

You're not here, but you are.

We talk of the mornings in the sheets,
Daylight streaming through the window,
Tired eyes blinking,
Sleepy smiles saying, "Good morning."

That is the past, but it's not.

"Do you remember? I do."
I wish I could forget, memories lead us back to each other.
I wish I could forget, but, then again, no.
For I would hold you again, happily.

We are not "us", but we are.