*Disclaimer: I do not own the Gemma Doyle Trilogy, though I'd trade Ms. Libba my soul for it =).
Palms put to that tree
That rough, cursed bark
And feel the warmth, your warmth.
It scorches my hand.
I sense the flood of tears threatening
And try to fight back the burning
But I know it is not just the heat
It is the memory.
It was forbidden from the start
Yet I convinced myself it didn't matter.
And it didn't.
It never did.
The smell of burning cinnamon fills my head
And I turn, expecting, hoping…
But it is only the scent of a far-off memory.
I hear your voice, though it is only in my mind
It tells me to let go, to accept.
But I can't.
And I never will.
Not as long as I can still feel the ghost of your embrace
Still trace the trail of your kisses
Still hear your murmurs of promises unkept.
Why did you do what was noble?
What you felt destined to do?
Why did you save me and not yourself?
I ask the empty night sky these questions
And each time I am met with no answer.
Only the cruel silent night, and the memories.