your particular brand of wisdom
and the kindness that stayed in your eyes
long after they faded in brightness.
I miss rainy nights
when your stories and a quilt would keep me warm
and the weight of your arm settling
comfortably on my shoulder,
just as it always has.
I used to think my mind could paint
a casual masterpiece.
Now, I fear I may struggle to recall
the curl of your lip as you fondly answered
Your picture greets me on my wall
and forever sits in my phone.
But what can compare to the smell of your old soap,
the sound of your never-there laugh,
kisses pressed into my cheek
placed where it would reach my heart
You could not stay
and I think I understand.
We must all succumb to a sickness
or an unyielding grief
or an unseen mishap
We understand our lessons
but who can compel us
to accept a truth that rots us out?