Searching

I cling to her like my own life is in the balance.

I search for anything she may have held dear.

I look for pictures of any kind that hold her image, her smile, her eyes, her lips, her hair.

I build an altar of these images.

I seek a scent that is hers.

I find places where she once sat, and I sit.

I listen for her voice, her laugh.

I wait for her touch, a kiss, her arms around me.

 

What I find are my tears, my pain, my sorrow, my loneliness.

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