You are in all the words I write.
You are hidden in the bookshelves
Of my mind,
Like bookmarks forgotten amongst
The pages.
Chapters scratched and pages torn
From constant reading.

You are in all my poems
But as I try to imagine
Knowing you in real life
As I am. Someone different now.
I cannot recall your face
Or begin to spell your smile.
The words I felt when loving you
Have gone out my mind
Like they were nothing but air.

I remember what it felt like to be rejected.
Desperate and confused.
Hurt and alone.
But as for the taste of your skin.
The paragraphs of love I actually felt...
Something is tearing them out of me.
All I am left with is an anthology
Of emotions and memories
I am no longer connected to.

I am trying to rewrite the story
Of you to put to rest
But
Our final draft nowhere near
My completion.