Shadow People

People leave
and we carry their memory
in our pockets.
As much as a place
can become haunted
by past lives,
ghosts of people
who have passed
or left
or disappeared
can cling to our skin,
ghosts from the past
haunting our present.
Like gossamer spiderwebs,
traces of those
who left us behind
tangle with our day-to-day
and stick to our fingers.
I trace your image
and the words
on the pages, 
knowing that your hands
once held this tattered paper,
that your mind
formed the words
that hover in my mind
showing me
the rawness of you,
the roughness
of your guard disappearing
like leaves floating
on a sudden breeze.
You are my ghost,
ever behind me,
your words tinting my world
with the shadow of loss.
You season my days
with hints of who you were
and jade my ideas
of what life is supposed to be.
I loved you with abandon
and maybe that only happens
once in a lifetime.
Perhaps that abandon
is why I see your echo
in every movement
of my body,
your ghost lingering
in my limbs.


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