Somewhere out there, there is hope.
Carefully woven 
within the shredded fabric 
of a well loved blanket, or quilt,
made up of scraps
filled with memories,
and yesterday’s trash.
Set aside, a mug filled with warm milk
mixed with a sweet honey,
topped of with a soft kiss
on your temple.
Art made of believing,
joy,
and a painful submitting to memories
long gone.
Embracing you in a tight hug
warm but somehow familiar.
You sit, cry
dream of another time.
But dread leaving
the present all the same.