I thought it was only the cold when you let go of my hands,
The way my ribcage pressed closer once you left me.
I told myself the ache was temporary.
Something shifted in my throat that night,
Not pain, just a faint pressure, a lump.
I pretended not to notice.
Only then do I feel it moving,
The black rot curls deeper each time I remember you.
It settles in my heart where you used to be.
Thus once more began the night.