There are times she is like a ghost in some house far to the wayside. Fading from windows, hiding from sight. There are those times I would reach my hand out towards her, like those days before.
Her hand in mine. The curve of her smile and her eyes lingering upon me.
I stay my hand though, for it is that I do know there is none there. Just as empty as this house. Forgotten, dusty, and left to see its better days behind.
Left behind as I turn to walk away but remain no less haunted as I was those moments before. Away, yet never to have left all that once was her.