Hold this hand,
that has held another many moons ago.
There will be something of the past
that I could not wash away.
Most nights, I will sleep contentedly
my head nestled on your shoulder,
my arm wrapped across your chest,
smiling lightly.
On some nights, I will wake up
And look past you,
seeing the ghosts that I thought I had banished.
Bring me back.
Take me to the window
And point out the stars
That have survived for light years
As the universe shattered and remade itself around them.
I will listen to your music
Tapping my foot gently to the rhythm,
And on most days
I will sing along with you
Not remembering that these songs,
I once sang to another.
On some days,
I will stop mid-song;
Something of the past caught in my throat.
Sing to me.
Erase the links between music and memory.
If not,
give me new memories.
In return, my love,
I will draw a silver lining on all your clouds.
I will write love poems to you,
Erasing the links between words and your memories.
If not,
I will give you new memories.
I will look out of the window
And point out through the stillness of the night
The breaking horizon turning crimson,
Just as you broke your darkness with light.
I will take you back from the window
And hum softly
So you can fall asleep contentedly once more.
And I will hold your hand,
with something of your past,
that you could not wash away.
The Writer's Nest 