Tears trace my cheek

Staining my sorrow

Stinging my open wounds

He is gone

Never coming back

Into my sight.

Trees shade my steps

Leaves caress my silhouette

Wind whispers softly into my ears

“Even the dead tell stories”

And I stop in my tracks.

The house creaks with old wood

The doors slam with wonder

I wrap my blanket around distress

Because even though I know he’s gone

Even the dead tell stories.