Conversing with ghosts

I still talk to you sometimes,

even though you’re not here—

just in the faint hope that you are somewhere peaceful;

where gentle leaves flow in the summer breeze, 

bringing with it memories of my voice. 

Yesterday I didn’t miss you at all.

Today I woke with that familiar, dull ache.

Its persistence has left me drained.

Today I bought a Sauvignon Blanc—

you would have loved it.

I drank it beside an empty chair,

listening to music we once danced to,

watching the birds chase after butterflies.

It’s so peaceful here,

I’m so happy to be somewhere I am loved.

I only hope that you are too.