Shades of yellow

I run my thumb over the base of the fourth finger on my left hand

and imagine the heat of him in the space next to me.

I can feel the indentation of his head on the pillow beside me.

Then I open my eyes and stare ahead at the empty space.

I pause for a moment trying to remember where I am

and sigh.

I’ve been dreaming of him from the time I was a teenager

and the idea of having a person to belong to,

a soul that spoke to mine

became an intrinsic part of me.

A quarter of a century later, I know

fairy-tales are not true and

fables are for queens.

As I hear the sound of a flush going and

the rasp of the razor against his cheek in the bathroom

I know I can’t help myself.

I’m fifteen again,

and still wondering if my soulmate

is walking towards me

or has lost his way.