week fifty-one

will this melancholia consume me 
or will these eyes shine once again? 
am I apparent through my actions
the way I walk, the way I laugh, the way I am
can you still smell me 
through my perfume? 
nostalgia is a thing I can cradle in my hand. 
does a poem of silence still hold meaning?
beyond the words I write the message is all too clear
I am here.  
dreams, light, heart and all. 
I am here.