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Shadows
We use to take walks.
On this particular day before we began, you walked up behind me, put your arm around me, kissed my cheek and said "I missed you baby." I missed you too.
You kissed my cheek, the most innocent gesture of affection, your lips are still there.
I tried to give them back the day you left but you wouldn't take them. I try to scrub them off with soap and water, with bleach, even with windex because that's for glass and that's what I am, glass. At least that's how fragile I feel like glass, like drop me and crack, when you dropped me, I cracked and you now look through me like glass.
When we walked that day, we held hands.
We intertwined our fingers, like we intertwined our bodies, like we laced up our minds, like we synced up our souls, you left your fingers.
I always shake my hands, crack my knuckles, wiggle my fingers, people ask me why. I tell them I'm just making sure that the hands I have are only mine, the fingers I own belong to me, so why do I still see yours? Still see you?
You laughed with me, though I tried to laugh lower to study the octave waves in yours. Tried to catch them as they flew out of your mouth into the sky, would she do that for you? Trap your laugh in a jar for the days you think you've lost it?
I saw your shadow while we were walking and while I was walking the other day I saw it again. I always look over my shoulder hoping to find our shadows entangled in one another.
Does she write poems about you?
I did the laundry.
Did mine twice, took 3 showers in 3 hours, washed my hands 15 times because I saw your fingers again becoming intertwined with mine, saw your arm around my waist, felt your kiss on my face and your shadow, I saw your shadow again.
I always see your face in a crowd, always hearing your name in other words, looking for you in other men.
I saw your shadow again, but have yet to see you, this time it wasn't entangled in mine, didn't even hold hands like they use to, and your fingers are back, intertwined with mine and I don't shake them off this time.
And your lips are on my cheek and I don't wash them off.
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This piece, like many that you'll soon read, was inspired by a person who is very close to my heart. Sometimes, after losing someone you had such a bond with, when miss them or think about them... even when you least expect them to appear in your mind, they do. Almost to realistically, as if they're physically there with you.