Waking in my bed, there is a breeze of a tender flower, softly blowing through the recesses of my mind, cool as the spring morning, gentle in her touch, a touch though I no longer can feel. As much as just a gentle weight that one places with gladness on his own heart, so place I myself the burden of the loss of the so dear part of me, unable to find, unable to replace.
Can there be restoration for such a loss, when a part of you has been cut away, taken by an enemy that is as cruel as it is uncaring.
For she is no longer there lying beside me, how desperately I reach, still are the unrealized dreams of yesterday as I turn to hold her in the moments between sleep and wake, tear stained cheek, their salty taste dig deep in my soul.
I desperately reach for that part of me that is but a vacant painful void, scratching that no longer existing leg, attempting to rub away the pain that rests just below the surface of my awareness, I lay there hoping, even praying that maybe I may just be waking from some cruel nightmare, but alas no that part of the bed remains cold.