Revision #2

He hasn't left me, no he is still alive.
I keep him here in my heart and my mind.
I don't miss his hugs, I keep them nearby.
In the form of a pillow that he used by and by.
He was quiet, a brooding gentle storm.
Harmless, no matter how everyone did scorn.
If they had seen him as I did, how I still do.
Perhaps they would know as I know is true.
The pillow beside me holds the broken promises,
The promises of a boy who died before his time.

Dead, but his body still walks. The one I loved no longer exists, replaced by one who fell out of love as easily as the boy had fallen in love. Did he love me, once upon a time? He cannot recall, or so he says. He remembers not the years we had, the late night skype calls and early morning cheer. But how can he forget what I remember so clear? That is how I know he has died, that someone else uses his name.

If he holds no love, at least he isn't cruel. A young person who makes mistakes, no different from you or I. Someone I saw a life with, a life that faded before my eyes. It wasn't fair, but then life is never fair. It's cruel and Cupid performs the cruelest of hoaxes. Yet I can hope he is happy, as happy as I. If ever I should lose my memory, there is one moment I wish to retain. The homecoming night I spent in isolation at a dance, wishing he were there. The simple joy of returning home, of playing our song, of slow dancing with "his" pillow and pretending it was him. Of reuniting with him that night, if only for a while. If age should take my memory, I give the rest freely, but let me retain the memory of the dance I never had.

Reaching for him blindly, calling his name into the abyss. Silence for months, an inner dread I cannot cope with. What have I done? What did I do to turn you away from me, my dear? I reach as far as I dare without falling, scared of the unknown. Months will pass, and he will be silent. You must let go they say, but I refuse. I cling to his memory, the voice I'd come to cherish. Let go they tell me. Yet again I refuse, he will find his way back here, we've been separated many times before. You give us no choice they say as they push me, the memory of his pillow, of the call we had that night floating along side me as though a video I am watching. I reach out for him, cry his name. I awaken beside another, not my love, not the one to whom I am bound. The new one holds me, trying his best to reassure me though I can sense it breaks his heart to know I still cling to old memories. Say his name they say, but I dare not, knowing how it would break this one's heart. My love is gone away, and will he come again? And will he come again. Ophelia's lines from Hamlet come to mind as I drift back to sleep, back into the embrace I never had.