Piece of Silver

I place my fingers laced between each other as if they were yours. I long for your lean muscular arms around my petite body, slowly wrapping themselves around my waist ready to squeeze me closer. I imagine your warm breath passing down my neck as your soft gentle lips would press down on me, closing my eyes and taking my breath away. I wish I could see your eyes, but you’re behind me, and won’t look up. But it’s ok, because as long as I can feel your body warming mine, then I know you’re there. But the hairs on my back stand; my bare back is cold. You’re not there as much as I try to keep you. I tightly shut my eyes now, forcing images of you to pop up. I want to see you. I’ve got to see you. I need to! You’re fading away and my memory does a futile job at bringing you back. Why can’t I look into your eyes? I just need that small reassurance that you’re real, that we’re real.

I take the ring you once wore, and hold it to my heart, rolling it down to my navel, its cold metal surface making my body tingle, bringing back memories of your touch. You wore it every day, the inner ring touching your skin, so now I hope it can touch mine, and let us intertwine. I roll it down my thighs, pretending it was your fingers, it goes down to my ankles, making my toes curl, like you once did. I remember the way I giggled when you wiggled my little toe, and the way you smiled back at me from the corner of your mouth. It still makes me blush to this day. It’s you. I blushed because of you, and I smiled because of you, and now I cry for you. Those feelings are real, we were real. But I can’t see your eyes, and if I can see them, then what does that mean? You’re not real. Not anymore at least.

They say the eyes tell a lot about someone; that you can see the whole life story of someone through their eyes: their character, their flaws, their potential, everything. So without the eyes, do you really exist? ‘Cause it’s getting harder and harder each day to keep you here. Your deep voice is getting softer and softer and I’m starting to forget the way you got down on one knee and said those words. I don’t have many physical belongings to hold on to, so I need the reassurance. I need those eyes to look at me again the way they used to. The way they’d light up when I walk in, or the way they’d squint when you knew I wasn’t telling it all. I need to be able to see myself in your eyes again. I need them to show me that it was real, but they won’t. Now you’re nothing but a memory and a piece of sliver, while I’m nothing but some girl who visits a grave looking for what used to be, and dying for what now, can never be.