I used to tell myself that I could put you out of my brain without a second thought, to make room for things more “important”, as though you can be compared to last week’s AP history test answers.

Now, I can’t sleep without 10 mg of Melatonin coursing through my veins, following the same path that your touch once took. I wash dishes once, twice, three times, scrubbing harder and harder every time your name passes through my head. All it takes is to hear one syllable of your name; “Did you lock the car?”, “Pay the meter fee!”, and I am gripping the nearest surface with white knuckles.

When I sit in the library, I sometimes allow myself to watch your boney hands through a crack in the office. They are long and thin, with a slight purple tint. They wring with stress that you are now so used too, I bet you don’t even notice it anymore. They move swiftly, as though they have minds of their own. Sometimes, they will hover over an object, a slight uncertainty visible to those who take time to notice. Then they are back to the wringing. How do I know they are yours? Good god, how I wish I could forget.



-I couldn’t go any longer without writing about you