by Erin Jones

The still blow of a gentle wind, noisily quiet as raindrops slide from the grip of the clouds, continues and never ends. The depression imposes your memory upon my mind. My heart pounds with a rough, harsh sound. I wrench my brain from this memory, though I know it will not cease. My pain pours through my heart like daggers and it doesnÂ’t even flinch. I cannot stop thinking of you. Every time it goes away, suddenly it comes back twice as evil, cascading through my skin as if on ice, which is all it could be anymore. My heart pounds with difficulty, the cold in my blood is affecting it. I can feel the icicles beginning to form. Is this love? I cannot even tell. But as this love has been my first, love has been my last. I cannot fathom the words to explain what I feel. I am lost. It has been years, though your memory has not dissipated. I am ashamed. I cannot lose this empty feeling, this hollow, numb feeling.


Posted on 12/02/2007
Copyright © 2020 Erin Jones

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