Antidote

14 | always

I dreamt of her—
my sweet dearest grandmother
gently held her soft hand,
as she rested her body on the squab
excessively I talked to her and blabbed
about everything, the things I usually say
and that I miss her every second of every day
but she was so calm, so quiet
her skin seemed pale;
her eyes never met mine
again, I tried to speak to her
like how I imagined her listening
to my never-ending talks

Before she left,
I saw her crocheting a doily
her doilies were undeniably lovely
and those were my favourites
it was her masterpiece
the stuff I greatly miss

Yet I heard nothing from her no longer
not even a single word nor answer
as much as I miss her,
must I need acceptance

Glad she decided to see me
nevertheless, even just in my dream
forever she will be,
in my heart and memory.