I keep thinking about your ghost

You are not dead yet.
In fact,
without me in your life
you are probably more alive
than you ever were previously.
You wilted and dissolved
like a flower plucked
and dropped on pavement
passed and stomped on
by strange men
you became an imprint
on my sidewalk
and I just can’t remember
where I let you fade.
I write you down in past tense
like a memory,
like temporary,
like my words can keep you from escaping me
though you already have.
you’ve become a ghost to me,
and I write about you this way
because it is the only way
you can still exist for me.

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