Strange

It is strange now, to walk all alone when not so

Long ago I was holding your hand and you

Were walking along my side, laughing and talking about

your day, your work and the things you find

beautiful.

It is strange now, because walls still whisper your name

And all the rooms still remember you and your scent,

And things you left and things you gave and things you lost here

still carry your name which echoes amidst a broken man.

It is strange now, because you are one phone call away,

one message away, one picture away.

You are my forbidden fruit, my chain, my freedom, my cure, my addiction,

My victory and my defeat,

And the only thing I can do now is to pray for patience and pray for oblivion,

to ride out this storm and at last

be at peace.