There's an imprint on my left hand
where my forefinger meets my knuckle,
from where the that ring you gave me
used to live.
There's a gaping hole in my chest from where my heart,
the heart which only contained
love for you,
used to reside.
There's a scar on my thigh, from the day I was careless with your knife.
My hands feel cold and alone without yours.
You left your mark on me.

The weight that I used to carry on my shoulders, has lifted.
I feel light, happy, new.
But there's still an imprint on my left hand, where my forefinger
meets my knuckle.
The ring that you gave me,
used to live there.