You say that you still remember
every inch of our last moments.
But you don’t know, that every
fibre of you lives in the corners of my
In the back of my throat.
In the nerves at the ends of my
forever trembling fingers.
And I don’t know if you
are able to sense my anguish,
but every memory of you
lives like bile in my stomach.
Sharp, and acidic, and persistent.
You are like the Livestrong bracelet on your wrist.
Both pivotal and mysteriously untouched.
And although you may be a skeleton
of what I knew and what I loved,
miles and miles
and worlds away,
I know that I will always
be haunted by you.