Ghosts

I saw you in my front porch today.

Not you, I'm

sure.

But close enough,

enough for me to

remember

how the way you were crying,

not the pretty type

but the one where

snot runs out of your nose and you

sob with all your might

how your heaving shoulders

made me forget just for

a tiny, tiny, moment

that you were the one

leaving

I see you everywhere, love

in train stations

and buses

and supermarket stores

and in how they changed the flower

display to roses before

valentine's

day

and the way the sun

sets at the west after a long, long day

long enough to read the letter you left me

when you turned around

and didn't

stop

walking.

Except you didn't leave, honey

not at all

not completely

not when you left a massive hole in

the muscle pumping away in my chest

untended and forgotten,

not when you

still haunt the hallways

like a ghost

with the lack of your coat

in the emptiness

and gaping holes

in the spaces

you left behind

and

never

fixed.