I sleep beneath layer

upon layer

of blankets,

stand for hours under

running water,

trying to feel the heat

but still,

I am cold.

Cold and torn,

from the threads

of your memory.

Scents drift by

on the wind,

and I try to grasp the dust.

Echoes of sounds,

music and voices,

haunt me,

taunt me, but

all is darkness,

in my mind

as I wander

streets of light.

The faintest of memories

arise, then dissolve

on my tongue, as

I gaze, into a hundred pairs

of brown eyes,

drown my vision

in the blackest of hair,

but still,

I never find you.

Still I am here,

and still, I am cold,

so cold.

Nothing touches me.

Something is, so

very wrong and

I am here,

instead of the nowhere

I rested in, after I left you.

The nowhere I floated,

before life projected me

ten thousand miles

and twenty lives,

from you.

© Deborah Jordan  06.2010

Music; Naci En Alamo by Yasmin Levy

This piece alludes to a past life experience and does not refer to any man, alive or dead and as such is in no way intended to cause any man, alive or dead, any ill feeling or malice. It is about missing a person who has been a great love and presence in one lifetime.