Breathe

 

Traces of his goodbye

still linger in the air–

its gentle breeze slowly

hums his form,

and I’ve been breathing it,

ever since–inhaling

his silhouette, exhaling

his essence.

I’m not doing this

for sheer frivolity;

I’m not doing this

simply because I want to.

I’m doing this because

his memory is the only

thing that’s keeping my

dying heart alive, and

I will keep doing this, until

my shattered pieces–

my stained glasses–

are mended once again.