The Whill

The fall air blows

whispering through my hair

sending a chill down my spine,

Chilly, 33 degrees

windy

not sunny

dark and cold,

A void

light colored, yellow perhaps

of hope,

like a light at the end

of the long

dark

tunnel,

Your laugh

soothing my brain,

sending a chill down my spine

a good chill, more like a warm chill,

a whill?

I don’t know

but it soothed me,

oh how I wish it were real

how I wish you were standing in front of me

laughing for real—

in real time

with me,

You probably haven't laughed lately,

but I know in my heart you once did,

but for now

i’ll hold the radiating warmth it gave me

close to my heart

until you return.