The necklace
That you gave me,
still sits,
rotting,
in the bottom of my drawer,
sinking in a sea
of ticket stubs and gum wrappers,
all small treasures of you.

I can't open the drawer.

When I do,
I smell the campfire
the smoke,
damp wood burning.
I hear the bird's song,
high in the trees.
The damp sand
filling the gaps between my toes.

I hear you too.
Your deep,
rumbling chuckles,
the ones that start in your chest,
rocking the core of my being.

But I also hear your screams,
your cries,
the inhuman wildness.
I feel my hopelessness,
sobs racking my body,
the fire growing.

The memories of you
burn
softly inside the drawer,
dimmed with time.
Your fire is too powerful,
too painful
for me to bare.

So it lies in the drawer,
waiting,
wanting.