still haunt certain parts of my heart
that have not gone dark, or cold
there is still a gossamer of hope
that I still hold on to whenever
the memory of you, the memory us,
strikes at odd hours
when magnetic pull of loneliness
is stronger than before
when the wails of my heart are loud,
my feet struggle to take me a further step,
just one step away from those days
days littered with memories,
with love,
with a thousand eternities
that we hoped we would mold
with our bare hands,
and then I miss you
and then I call you
and then your distant voice sounds cold
and then I regret why I called
Awesome poem
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