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The ghost of your hands follow me everywhere.
I can still feel your knuckles rubbing against my back.
Your hands running through my hair.
Your fingers gripped against my thigh as we drive.
Your fingertips dancing against my palm.
You're there, but you're not.
I use to love staying out to look at the stars.
But now that I can feel the wind against my shoulders rather than your arm I can't bring myself to stay.
Your presence comes and goes.
But you stay away.
And it's not the same.
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YOU ARE READING
Finding Myself I ▽
Poetry"She painted her soul with words and displayed the pain for all to observe." Where a girl is learning how to love herself and the complicated life she lives.
