I walk towards the sound of your voice,

towards the river’s edge,

gentle winds that waft your smell towards my nostrils,

I take your essence in as the day proceeds and into the night when

loneliness bridges a gap to a vision of you so pure in technicolor,

of adventures we roamed,

what fun was had,

your smile ever present,

not a care in the world,

how I admired your strength against the fray,

when death’s door was ever present,

and held you close when fear crept in,

When coma’s slumber took you into the fold,

I whispered in your ear to let go…

I sometimes wake to your voice,

peering towards the river’s edge,

but you’re not here…