Dear Willow,

I tried so hard to you make you a ghost to me.

As i ran my fingers down spines that weren’t yours,

and listened to heartbeats that did not belong to you.

you kept it alive,

as your fingers traced along the keyboard,

and wrote the word unlovable on my arm,

i did not flinch nor pull away-

it stuck so easily,

felt so familiar 

and i felt the ink crawl onto my legs-

unlovable.

the next time i saw you was a year later,

i felt that same exact arm shake, and i tried to hide the writing that was still there

as your lips curled into that big toothed smile.

as it didn’t happen -

i am ghost to you-

as you struggle to pronounce my name,

then asking-

“what’s your favorite sound again?” 

yours is trains.

i still remember have much you love the sounds of trains

as I’ve forgotten how to take care of myself,

or how to write a poem

or how to play my favorite song on the guitar

or how to breathe when i am near you.

i still know- you love trains

 and how you take your coffee

and how you loved when i called you sweet.

you’re still alive next to me-

as i can hear your heartbeat across the room,

i can barely feel mine.

i’m writing this to ask you-

how does it feel sitting across the room from a ghost?

does it scare you- how easy it has become-

to lose all the feeling?

to hear the voice you forgot for a year?

to tell you the truth-

i’m beginning to forget what my voice sounds like too.