Thirty-five.

As time passes
my memory fades
and your face becomes
a blur, your touch
a fleeting memory,
and your voice as I
imagine it was.

But in this moment,
fresh from the pain,
my memory is a
diamond and every
scene is crystal clear.

Each day erases
another detail - the
weather, the color of
your shirt, what we
ate - I am praying
the days pass quickly
until you are
nothing more than a
speck in my past
that doesn't cause this
all-consuming ache.