Your image is seared into my vision, lingers behind my eyelids and is tattooed on my brain.
No matter how hard I scrub, the residue of us still lingers, and I can see the absence of you in my life, like the lighter skin under a just pulled Bandaid.
My hands that fit perfectly into yours now sweat at the thought of getting anywhere near yours again, and at night they reach for your spot of the bed as if a drop of sweat/tears will water the soil of the just removed grass, and it will regrow.
I see your eyes and nose and mouth staring back at me through my bathroom mirror at night, as I brush my teeth I feel the cold, empty hands hold onto my shoulder from your spot.
The places you used to lay in are now lighter, untouched by the sun in the months you spent there; I gently touch my fingertips to where your hand used to sleep and close my eyes in prayer for the lingering warmth to come back, just for a second, to replace the dullness that comes with our long time apart.