When I think of him now, he’s clothed in shadow…

Blues and gray,

Cool and controlled.


It’s the only way I can carry his memory awake;

Truth covered in hazy, cold distance.


Oh, but when I dream of him, he’s armed with fire,

the way I left him…

Red and gold,

Burning and alive.


It’s the only way my mind will let my heart remember;

Sleep shrouding my sorrow.


I realize now…

I never knew real loneliness,

Before he spoke my name.


Chelsey Whitlow


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