Sometimes I see you looking out the window
and I know you still wait for her.
Sometimes I hear you humming, very softly, almost a whisper,
the song she always sang to you when you're about to sleep.
Sometimes I catch you touching the place behind your ears
where she always kissed you.
Sometimes you stop in your tracks when you smell her perfume.
And sometimes I can feel your hands loosening its grip when you hold mine—a fraction, an inch, barely noticeable.
And sometimes you laugh at my jokes but the glitter never reaches your eyes.
And sometimes you kiss me but it feels like a question.
And I know we're both haunted by a girl still alive,
her phantom hand pushing me
away from you.