We were something so good and so true.
It hurts my heart to even touch it.
My new room reminds me of your room.
These poems remind me of who I used to be.
I look at your paintings and ache.
I ache for the least word of yours. Give me something new to fixate on.
I read the letters you sent me again.
For the hundredth time, again.
I look at your paintings.
I wonder how many of them were made with my paint.
I say so many things to avoid saying that I miss you.