As I look around me,
everything is you.
The childish paintings on my wall,
and half of the t-shirts in my drawer.
One of the pillows on my bed,
and the bracelet on my wrist.
The gifts I got you for our anniversary,
never to be opened or cherished by you.
Your birthday in my calendar,
and your words in my head.
Every **** picture and video on my camera roll,
and even my underwear,
whose patterns match those of yours.
I'm surrounded by you still,
and it makes this utterly impossible.
Jan 29, 2020
Jan 29, 2020 at 12:00 AM UTC
As I look around me,
everything is you.
The childish paintings on my wall,
and half of the t-shirts in my drawer.
One of the pillows on my bed,
and the bracelet on my wrist.
The gifts I got you for our anniversary,
never to be opened or cherished by you.
Your birthday in my calendar,
and your words in my head.
Every **** picture and video on my camera roll,
and even my underwear,
whose patterns match those of yours.
I'm surrounded by you still,
and it makes this utterly impossible.
