She releases my hand
I wake from lost dreams on a bitterly cold Sunday morning with the shape of her name caressing my lips like a kiss.
A reluctant grey day has already crept in from behind the heavy curtains and made the room pale.
I search for her in the shadows knowing she is always beyond reach.
I swear I hear a faint cadence of her laughter from a place far away.
With a flick of her hair and the ghost of a smile her image fades.
Sometimes I am not even sure who she is.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photo stolen from pathogens