The holes in my conciousness are still there,
but you're gone.
And I wonder how long it'll take,
for me to stop wishing and missing,
and to start remembering and appreciating.
Sometimes I can feel your rough finger tracing circles,
on the palm of my soft hand,
and it burns like fire,
and stings like a knife.
But it never used to hurt.

By Jill, 16