The air is warm to my touch But I’m still cold lying here without you Archar’s soul should be exploring the afterlife, not haunting me. I wondered if he was out in the world right now, warming that chill with someone else's body. My heavy chest weighed me down as I scanned for that thin-spined poem book. My throat constricts My loneliness becomes a crutch Was it a crutch? Was he leaning into that empty feeling, the one I felt without his presence? Did the fear of me finding out he was still alive keep him running? Because it should. My time is coming due I just hope the hole I left isn’t too
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