Poema – Cold to the touch

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COLD TO THE TOUCH

(por M.L.)

Memories are cold to the touch, aren’t they?
Cold as the feeling of metal during a fever day
Summing up all we are based on what we were, ceased to be or want to become
They define how we see the world that surrounds us

Warmer than oblivion, still not hot as physical presence,
Memories dare to let us dream of how would it be
If distance could easily be overpowered
And the abscence could be filled with what we miss.

But why is it that the same thing that bases our very own conscience
Tortures it with a need to be side by side?
Why is it that we connect and let that feeling define part of ourselves
If we know that the parting of the ways shall bring the abstinence crisis along with it?

We are, at our own manner, addicted;
We miss the things that keep us alive.
Sometimes we’re left with the fainting image of what we crave.
In the end, though more confortable than the empty space that we carry around,
Memories are cold to the touch, aren’t they?

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