Winter exhales softly.
The clouds gently pull
night's shade down,
leaving only ebony snowflakes
as a remembrance
of the light.
I stand waiting -
waiting for the touch
of memories that softly
stir within -
like a flake of snow,
more seen than felt.
I remember that each
snowflake is unique and
wonder why my memories
are always the same.
I wait -
on the very spot you
returned to me.
Washed up, a grotesque
reminder of what you were;
a victim not a person any longer.
Perhaps I come here each year
to remind myself you are gone.
Like the black snow around me,
your memory touches but
quickly melts - leaving no
taste, no warmth, no trace.
... only a hint of liquid sadness
which slowly trails down my
cheek...
... and freezes as it reaches
my heart.
Spring will not return.
Notes:
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Prompt: "Memory of You"
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