Between My Fingers

As the days go by,
we watch silent memories
play out in our heads
in black and white.
Maybe things could be different,
and I would still be holding
your hand, as we walk along
cobblestone streets in the Fall.
Do you remember
how we tried to keep warm?
The spaces between my fingers
feel so cold.

 


Written for the #AutumnScribbles Instagram poetry writing challenge. Day 7.

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