Trying

I try to write about how you make me feel.
I can't.
It's not that I can't articulate, that I can't remember
strong hands, safe embraces,
salty kisses and the
scent of your skin.
I can.
But the thought makes me sick.
And it's always highlight,
erase.

I'm trying.
To write, to talk,
To be normal,
Resume.
I can't.