We have been apart for longer than we ever were together.
And yet, in the small hours of the morning, you're all I can think of.
I write poetry when I should be sleeping. Not because I want to, but because in the dead of the night it's too much effort to try to keep you away.
I never used to believe in ghosts before I met you, and yet I'm convinced that this is what you are. I can't see you, but I still feel you lurking in the darkest corners of my brain.
You leave your dishes under my tongue and hang your laundry along my spine; you're every bit a part of me as my eyelashes or fingertips.
I can't tell where you start and I stop. I would kick you out, but I'm afraid of losing myself in the process.
Instead, I wrote poetry in the dark hours of the morning. Not because I want to, but because I'm scared of what will happen if I don't.
