When I think about it,
I feel your skin on my fingertips.

In every line of my fingerprints I feel your skin sinking in
the little bumps, the hair on your arms and roughness of your back.

The coolness of your shoulders
and warmth of your sides.

Hot and cold
I can feel your skin
As if it were just yesterday.
It’s been exactly 100 days.

I hear the vibrations
Of my name in your voice
Of my nickname in your mouth.

It’s almost too palpable to accept
It’s not real anymore.

They say it takes 30 days to break a habit
You’re no longer a habit
But I can’t help but feel the stain of you on my skin.