Anemoia

It's slow creeping

And also an abrupt sensation,

Feeling much like unexpected separation

Of something slight you cannot remember for having ever known.

"A feather like touch,"

The ghost of him remained in her mind

Long after their demise

Like smoke wafting from candles dissipating but never quite.

Echoes of the damage left in his wake

Stuck to her like burr on wool---

Though pricking at her pleasantly so

And reminding her she could never let go.

This has been her selfish soliloquy to the one that slices her open

When the cat and mouse game of life

Came to it's bittersweet end