From My Point of View

The wind brushes my cheek

Like your hand should.

The bitter cold

Against my skin,

Reminding me

Of how warm you once were.

But right now

There is only the cold.

The backstabbing cold.

The crippling cold.

The cold.

Cold.

Cold like you were to me.

Cold like the feeling of emptiness

After you left.

You left.

Left.

Left like the wind

Left my lungs

When you left.

The wind brushes against my cheek

Like your hand should.

Against my skin

Reminding me

Of how warm you once were.