“Warmth”. 

A joke perhaps, 

For to quote warmth is to know the absence of it. 

The absence of her. 

And to quote her absence is an endeavour in futility. 

One would be better suited screaming out into the ether, 

A roar from the depths of one's being, seething with emotion, raw and unaccustomed. 

A drop in the cold, dark void that rolls over with a scoff. 

 

Her touch was once warmth. As was her smile. 

But what does one do when such things are now beyond grasp? 

Warmth was the arch of her back. 

Warmth was the tip of her nose. 

Warmth was the curve of her lips. 

I’ll never see that look in her eye again, will I? 

Her soul once fit so perfectly in mine. 

All that’s left is yearning now. And a gaping hole. 

 

What hope have I without her? 

Memories are all I have left to sate me. 

Would knowing the end have changed nothing? 

Oh, how I’d cherish basking in her glow for just a moment more. 

Alas, when destiny deals, we must all accept. 

Some partings must happen; the dark void must have its fill. 

Her flame is now distant. An unreachable star. 

But hear me, cold mistress; her warmth I carry with me still.