Your fingers brushed my soul again.
Here in the quiet roar of my room, I felt you.
Why?
What is there to gain by you thinking of me?
Nothing.
My over-dried soul cried out, rolling over once again to dust.
A drop of moisture on an arid plain of sadness.
There was no doubt, I felt you.
I could sense the remembrance of what we were.
How much love we lost.
How many tears I cried.
Did you?
I have never known.
You departed so fast.
Never fully have I grieved.
What was there to gain?
Your fingers brushed my soul again.
My dead heart ached anew.
..and then you were gone.
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