A LETTER TO HER by Mide Benedict

Dear Sade,

It's been a while since your tongue last spoke to me in silence, since your eyes last watched mine like a horse watches the dusty road in blindness, a while since I last saw your face in absence and last asked you why you did that nonsense! As I always do each night before my eyes shuts in sleeplessness. 
But Sade, hope all is well and fine where you are: where the claws of the scorpion summons peace and the teeth of the lion caresses. 

Sade, hope in that your smile, still dwells that joyful thing? Yes! Yes! That very one, the one I always saw when you smiled, spreading your mouth wide when I spoke something, which you always claimed were funny and you would keep smiling until they turned into laughter.
Ah, Sade, how I used to love it then, how I should have still loved if you haven't left with time and become buried in haste. Sade, I've missed you so much, I have missed you ever since you became cold in my heart and your breath left my lungs. Ever since you said it was over, and your life ended like a broken pot, pehmeh! To the ground, into pieces that I could no longer pick.

Sade, I still miss you, even though you are gone, I still miss you, even though you are done.

Yours painfully,
Mide Benedict
Temple of Words