That Bit Of Flesh, Just There

It’s funny how I can’t remember how his hands felt on me.

I suppose time is eroding away the memory like a slow spring erodes away the rusty bridge that connects me to him.

I feel less for him every moment and I’m proud of that.

I feel stronger without him and I’m proud of that.

I don’t remember his hands on me but I do still remember the way his neck smelled when I hugged him

and the way my whole body warmed when he said he loved me

and how his hair felt in my hands when I kissed him

and how safe, how at rest, I felt when I woke up in his arms.

I may not remember how he touched me but I remember how I loved him and I always will somewhere within myself.

Sometime ago, a bit of flesh, a bit of my heart, died when he left me 

but somedays - like today - I think I feel it beating;

that bit of flesh, just there.