The remains of you are under my fingernails I scrub again and again, I see an imperfect, Solemn, Heartbroken face, In the reflection in my fingernails. There's bits of you remaining, A ghost in the imperfect breeze fluttering through the window, A butterfly's wings against my cheek. I scrub away the remains of you. A stain of jam on the floor, A sock without a partner, A piece of candy from Halloween under the couch. But no matter how much I scrub and wash away some pieces of you, There is always one more that remains.