he left something
in me,
planted like a little seed
in my chaotic mind.
it was not his
physical being,
flesh nor his blood.
not his well formed
sentences
with his lying
beautiful lips.
it was the sadness
that hit me a couple
of minutes every day,
it was in every
brushstroke on my
acrylic painting,
and in every
heartbeat that
he would forever
be stuck inside.