Aftermath

It's been weeks, yet you still haunt my dreams. Your voice echoes the empty corridors from which our love once called home. Like a perfume, your scent lingers in the fabrics I wear on my skin; your skin on my skin. I yearn for your gentle touch and caressing hand; I long for your playful eyes dancing in mine. Yet I often thought your eyes couldn't always meet your heart. Or maybe it was your heart being thrusted down by the side of you I never much enjoyed; the side that swallowed you whole when you told me you didn't love me anymore; the side that rose to power over voices of sympathy and solicitude. Rest In Peace to the boy buried alive by his very insolence, Rest In Peace to the boy I once called my own.