This chill I feel
It is no climatic variation
but the ghost of a touch
that lingers still on my shoulder.
I reach for her
but it is only my own
familiar flesh that greets my touch.
A tangible absence of the intangible
essences of her.
An invisible hand reaches
into my core.
Wrenching on my heart strings
as if to pull me towards her
across ranges and rivers and seas.
My heart and hers
two opposite poles of the same magnet
shattered and torn apart by distance.
Her voice rings out
in the words written in her own hand
But they are but a drop of water for this parched heart.