Regret

Cold, dry, calloused at the finger tips from strumming your guitar. My hand felt so small interwined with yours; I still remember the shape of your hand and how you held mine so tight. I can still feel it some days, the bad days, when all I can do is think about how I regret losing you. If I shut my eyes sometimes it'll bring me back and I can make out your knuckles and every crease in your palm.

I still love you, and I miss you.