A little red line

In the morning I wake and turn slowly,
six am, your body a silhouette in the morning light
flowing in through the shades
flowing in evasion of night
your skin
a palette in perfection
except for the outlines
all over your arms
little scars, not red like the year before
I trace my palm across your pale skin
sliding up the forearm and floating to the chin,
where I move your blanket aside
I now notice a peculiar line
a line that marks the day you died
your loving voice softly murmurs in my dreams
a chorus filling the room with glee
I say I miss you, you only stare
those blossoming green eyes, the last we met
I called you mother nature, you proved me right
when you joined the trees and the skies abound
frightening words screamed in leaps and bounds
only echoes remain of your chorus of harsh pain
only echoes remain of the day you dared to stay
the end was near, I swear I could hear it
but your breathing stopped, it held the world within it.

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