Wrought From Shadows

It has been three excruciating years since our final devastating war of words and your subsequent departure. In that time my loneliness has become a physical creature wrought from the shadows of all the empty spaces in my life you used to inhabit.

Although I never speak it aloud, I have given the shade-born wretch your name and imagine your likeness on its face which is devoid of features and each night as my pillow whispers all the regrets I will never be allowed to forget, it comes to me, kissing my forehead and caressing me with long, blurry arms in bed as I tremble from sobs brought about by the absence of your presence.