The Last

I cannot walk softly through the places where you were.
My remembering feet grow clumsy as my heart.
I feel the heat of what I could not prove -
So hot it burns, to touch the places where you were.

I cannot walk gently through the places where you were.
I stumble and I fall each time I start.
I feel you in the darkness as I move -
So cold it burns, to touch the places where you were.
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