You Are A Ghost, You See
You are a ghost, you see.
You haunt me not so much
in the traces of your life littered
among the foundation of mine,
the trinkets and bestowals of a love
I once thought was true.
No; your memory is nothing so easy
as those leftover tangibles I can hide in a box.
It is the phantom of you, that I cannot abide;
the ephemera of your mannerisms
that now color mine;
the cadence of your voice that carries on in my conversation,
because the pattern of my words had learned to follow along.
It is the beating and the rhythm,
the hand gestures,
the faces,
the little movements of my existence that had come to keep pace
with yours.
You haunt me in my very viscera,
the way that my tendons line together
and the circles my joints make when they move.
People, we come to mirror the thing that’s most before our eyes.
And even though you are now gone
I cannot rid myself of your reflection.
You are a ghost, you see,
and I am your phantom.
Quill Aquiver 