It is that time of year when I feel that familiar
presence. As the winter days beckon and
the nights close in my eyes watch the flames with more intensity. Flames that
dance in a non-existent breeze as I seek the tell-tale signs you have come
home.
On the rug in front of the fire I inhale the first
delicate wisps of Rive Gauche and I pray this time I will feel your touch
engulf me like it used to before the darkness came between us. Now there are
just ‘if only’s’ left and they are no comfort on a cold winter’s night.
In the hazy firelight I think I see you smile and hear
your laughter in the crackle of burning wood. I reach out but you are gone. The
tendrils of sweet perfume are rapidly replaced by the aromatic burning pine and
emptiness as once again I am alone.
© JG Farmer 2013
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