BY KAITLYNN CHASE
Your hands grasp me—
a gentle pull, the tug of sweet wind on a summer day,
as welcome as the air I breathe.
You hold on
and I let you, alive in the rush of
a comfort to calm my bleeding heart.
Your fingers dig in
clinging desperately to what’s not there.
The sting of regret and loss,
but it’s not enough.
You let go.
Too consumed in yourself,
you didn’t notice I was slipping away.
Invisible nail marks that will take
far too long to heal
and haven’t yet.
Bleeding need and want;
a painful memory.
Sharp reminders of what was and wasn’t there
and what I wished for there to be.
Empty hearts and vivid memories.