And every time I'm left or every time I do the leaving
there is change
there's new music on my sleep playlist
there is the imprint of words shared, or maybe not shared
theres the loitering of scents in the deepest particles of my cloths

And every time I'm gone from his life or he's done the going
there's his name doodled in the margins of my notes for a while
there is the shadow of his hand on the small of my back
and the trace of his lips on mine
there still remains the sound of his breathing, of his heartbeat

Whether I am the leaver or the left, the heartbreaker or the broken hearted, the winner or loser: there is always this time of transition.  This testament to how intertwined our lives were for a period.  But with him it never ended.  I am still so utterly haunted by his absence and as the others fade I watch his absence become ever present, ever growing.