truth is freedom

This frozen solid
could-have-been
anchors me
sinks me deep
and I'm troubled by
the way my mouth moves
around the hollow syllables
of your name
brushing the pillowcase
on which lingers
the scent of you
despite your lack of ever being
on this bed beside me.
I strain to recall the words
of the song of ours
we never danced to
and am transfixed
by the echoing laughter
of the private jokes we didn't tell.
In the haunting images
of these false memories
it always seems like winter
where you live.