Soft breeze plays gently with my hair.

I close my eyes and imagine your hands

brushing through the strands.

The rustling of leaves in the wind whisper faintly,

a reminder of your low melodic voice in my ear,

breath tickling my neck.

The sun behind me warms my back,

embracing it with sweet gentle heat,

much like your arm resting easily in the same spot.

But a bright summer day can never compare

to the real you,

to your light,

or your touch,

to a dream no longer there.