You know, that’s the best, worst, and deepest way to hurt someone.

I can take any object in a room and there is a story of you tied to it. Any article of clothing I own, especially the ones I wear regularly, there’s some passing comment of yours embedded like an old fragrance previously sprayed.

The city has run out of places where I haven’t memorized your order. There aren’t any coffee beverages left we haven’t tasted. Seeing the Starbucks barista reminds me how I’ve been scolded for continuing to order your complicated choice.

My morning eggs are bland.

More so –

Your touch is still on my skin.
The echoes of your laugh are still in my chest.

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