He felt of home, the warmth of a fleece clinging to my hips, the steam rising and kissing my senses, pulling me into a world where I was not alone.
He felt of love, the sort that others weep over because they feel it doesn’t exist, the kind that left me breathless upon realizing it was mine to keep.
He felt of loss, the kind that leaves you shattered in pieces, clawing at your skin, the purple pigment rising to the surface of your body.
He felt of pain, the type that leaves you crying silently as your lungs tremble, with red rivers traveling downstream on your arms, and your heart straining to beat on.
He felt of nothing at all, when he was once everything and more, taking my being with him and leaving me as an empty shell of skin and scars.