I keep your pictures on my windowsill,
‘Cause after all, your good mornings and good nights were always my favorite.
It’s been a year,
And I keep forgetting what you look like.
I can’t remember the vibrations of your voice or whether or not your eyes shriveled a little when you laughed.
I’ve forgotten more about you than I am comfortable with,
My heart wedges open a little more every time I confuse stories of “we”,
Each memory used to be so distinct,
They would all play like movies,
Film rolling when no one asked to press play.
Now, you’ve become an old collection of VHS’s.
I haven’t seen you in my dreams lately, either,
If sleep is the cousin of death, why haven’t you and I been made kin again?
Why has your name become taboo?
Why have all your t-shirts stopped smelling like you?
Why do I feel guilty every time I can say who you are and it doesn’t hurt anymore?
I am no longer in the solar system,
Sometimes it feels like a black hole has found home in my lungs has found home in my lungs and each breath only aids its growth.
Other times, you are the wood fueling the fire in my core,
The motivation and the passion that drives me to do whatever in my power to not live in vain.
Your absence has caused an avalanche of confusion,
And quite frankly, I am running out of ways to say I miss you.
But you will always mean more to me than a picture on my windowsill,
So don’t be a stranger.