What is it all becoming, if not sorrow?
The nights wonder how his breath feels on the back of her head; ache for a touch, a gaze. The mornings cling desperately to a fading dream..
Perhaps amnesia is all you’ve left to wish for; forgetting his name, your own.. his maddening words. ‘One day’ he says, but you can’t bear it. Your whole body turns into a wound and you keep waiting for the skin to fall off so you could breathe again; but you know his absence shrinks around your neck every time your heart beats amiss.
Let me be! you beg. Let me be yours..
Jackie Lowe’s 
Your comment on my writing means all the more after reading the bearing of your own soul. This is hauntingly beautiful.
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Yes, now you see why it got to me.. Thank you so much!
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Desperately beautiful, I love it. I feel angst over the end, I suppose anyone in tune with tbeir suffering would, too. It doesn’t matter who the subject is, we’ve all felt the pain. ❤🙏 Namaste 😊
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