The Fifth Emptiness
Loss is not an absence; It is felt, in every possible way. Echoes of footsteps walking away become Sounds that keep you awake. Grief tastes salty at first, but gradually Fades into stale midnight coffee. Ghosts haunt the periphery of your vision, as Every face morphs into the one you seek. Frigid air hugs you closer than any blanket; Each chilled draft a caress from beyond. But the smell - the smell of loneliness Is the perfume of the living, lingering In places it shouldn’t be. ©2024 @StaceyBattlestheWorld
