Poetry

This Warmth

“All the while, I’m haunted
by the memory of the warmth
your arms brought me.”

In this deepened state of longing, I have become accustomed to the cold. It freezes the very marrow in my bones. Crystallizes the blood flowing through my veins. And sets my skin in a frost. All the while, I’m haunted by the memory of the warmth your arms brought me. But the problem isn’t you. It never was. The issues, as they always seem, are mine. Yet I know the comfort you offer willingly at any moment, I still cannot seem to reach out for it. Perhaps it’s some deep emotional struggle locked in the deepest recesses of my soul with one part of me wanting to seek that blissful solace. All the while, that other part cannot accept it. It seems easier to say that I don’t deserve that kind of tenderness, but this feeling I cannot seem to shake is slowly eating away at me. Further isolating me from you. But how do I stop it? I don’t have the answer. I just hope that I find it before it’s too late.

© Sarah Doughty

And maybe, it already is.

9 thoughts on “This Warmth”

      1. Oh yes I loved this piece. I look forward to reading all your work but I did particularly enjoy this piece. Such vivid feelings. Have a great day my friend. Love ❤️ Joni

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