People lost

The truth is
Once a person touches your life
They never truly go away
The slate is never clean,
Smudges of dust, tiny details of their existence
Will always remain.

Everyone brings with them
A trail of stories
A host of firsts
A box of secrets that they

In your playlist
There is a ghost of every person
You knew,
Your bookshelf reflects offhand
Gifts,thoughts, ideas, conversations.
Every place has a ghost
Of someone’s memories,
While some you chose to forget,
They still remain,
An integral part of you.

Then, when your insides
Burn with the longing
And your mind gently pulls you away
From the pyre of memories
You burnt
You are grieving for the loss
Of half of your identity.

When you hear the voice
Over the phone,
The air seems shiny,
Or maybe it’s just your eyes
They get moist sometimes
And in the middle of the night
When you’re screaming
Your toes curled in the middle of a session of wanton self-love
And you find in your mind
Rising out of the ashes to lick your navel and up your stomach to the slopes of your breasts
That heave,
Just after a quake,
A sob wrenched from your throat
At the grief,
That has never quite left you
Has always stayed.

You remember how you lifted your wrist once
With pride,
Showing off the lack of scars,
And you laugh to yourself,
Admiring the ridged scars
In your heart.


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