Her Song

She holds on to your memory.

Keeps your picture near at all times.

Her locket.

Her bedside.

Her piano.

Dark curls and green eyes.

Perfect white teeth.

A sharp chin.

Her lover.

Arched eyebrows.

When she sits at the keyboard to play,

She’ll hear the words in her ears.

The sound of love.

‘I’ll be back soon.’

Her fingertips grace the keys, black and white.

Turning pink and red.

‘I promise.’

The sound of countless sunsets fills the dusty room.

Your arm flits around her shoulders- yet it is a memory.

Just a memory.

You are a ghost that listens to her talk to herself.

You are the air against her lips.

You’re nothing but a memory.

The sound of picnics in the park reaches for your ears.

Talent.

She never would have done this without him.

Without you.

A helping voice in her ears;

‘B flat. No, no baby. B flat.’

The sound of heartbreak fills the room.

She has to stop the song.

Your song.

You won’t come back.

She went, all dressed in black.

An ending with a single rose,

And a tissue under her nose.

She can’t bring you back with her song.

But she tries-

The air around her fills with sour lies.

‘I’m very sorry.’

‘Anything I could do to help.’

Let her be.

Let her play her song and wear her locket.

There can be no good without bad.

No happy without first sad.

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