the saddest part is that I am terrified to write about you 

 

because then you’d be all I’d think about 

for days 

 

I’d cry in the shower 

and knock into walls going crazy 

 

over what you might be thinking 

 

at that exact moment 

 

I see your silhouette 

out of the corners of my eyes 

finally 

looking to

see 

 

nothing 

 

but empty space 

 

beside me.

 

isn’t it terrifying how much someone can become a part of you? 

 

I find that 

This is what keeps me awake 

most nights

 

my ceiling seems to enjoy the company.

 

Ghosts form in places 

so tiringly  

Metaphoric; 

a ceiling with your smile 

and perpetually cold hands -  

 

I haven’t seen him there for so long now.

 

I remember how 

He would listen 

to me sing. 

he would watch as I 

cried 

over ripped shreds 

of your letters

never offering condolences 

 

only 

wishing

 

from the small space between my home and his

 

like he knew 

this pain isn't something 

Adjectives like to accompany 

 

I’d always wondered if he felt just as alone

 

I would hear him 

humming my favorite songs

when it had been days 

since I’d last shut my eyes

 

A lullaby 

 

Only him and I could understand

 

I look up now, 

hoping to see him there 

 

I’ve looked in every room 

Of every building 

I’ve walked inside

listening for his quiet humming 

 

his tired heartbeat

 

Looking for familiar chipped paint and

Soft 

eyes

 

maybe he’s lost somewhere in my subconscious or

What if he left with you;

 

maybe you needed him more

wherever you were going next. 

 

isn’t 

 

it 

 

terrifying 

 

how much someone can become a part of you?

 

how hard it can be

to let go? 

 

you hold on tightly 

to a rope that threatens to sever your hands,

 

wouldn’t it be better 

If the loneliness you felt 

was not in anticipation but of 

Misplaced love? 

 

look at the walls 

covered in stretch marks and daffodil smiles; 

 

you’ve been looking for

the man in the ceiling

in the wrong places this entire time. 

 

isn’t it 

Beautiful 

how love’s face

 

eyes 

 

thoughts and mind 

 

can change for you like winter to spring; 

 

can’t you still hear him singing? 

 

his breathing 

a small symphony that grasshoppers stop chirping to hear 

 

His smile 

something the world doesn’t stop to stare at

but what stops you cold 

 

sometimes 

I still feel chips of paint 

fall into my hair 

pleading for just 

One more 

 

sketch of where I always thought to look for him 

 

he is

vastly different 

from you

 

so much clearer 

than through rain-soaked window panes;

 

He doesn’t seem to mind

how stupid

my comparisons are. 

 

bumps and bruises 

when you look close enough 

yet

dancing life away through every last heartache because 

 

Isn’t it funny

 

how much someone can become a part of you?