You used to
wrap your arms
around me so
tightly that
it was painful.

When the warmth
reaches me now
it moves like
your arms did.

You’ve always been

too much

so it is no surprise
your touch would
manifest itself so.

I miss the days when
you were everything;
when I didn’t need
anything else because
no feeling was as strong
as the knowledge that
I would always be yours.

I know you act
like you’re happy.

And the fact is
you might be fine.

But you said things
to me that you would
never say to anyone else
and I wonder whether

you just don’t
need to say them
or is it just that
you have found
someone else
to tell them to?

The warmth even
smells like you and
it looks like you, too…

The way the sun
sets like I used to
rise for you.
That awkward moment where you realize that this poem would hurt less if it was about a past love, and not a past bosom friend.


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