Grief

A minute they're there...

and the next,

they are gone

infeasible to process

impossible to recover

A minute you were with them

and the next,

there's nothing but dust

floating about

a mere feeling

of their hand still around your shoulder

but then you turn around

and there is no one but a ghost

a cavity that was once a whole

A minute you're fine

and the next,

the tears flow rapidly down your face

the lines, so fragile, they trace

hard to breathe

harder to get up

you stretch your hand across

there is no one to lend one back

A minute you see their face, smiling

and the next,

you walk across

a shadow, a ghost, all smoke

of the burnt ashes

trying to remind you

to process it all

Yet,

it's inconceivable to do so,

unimaginable and impossible,

it seems

as when you look to the right

hoping to see them there

but you're left,

sitting next to nothing more than a remembrance

a ghost, a shadow of their existence...

(image cred: youreadmymind)