Maybe
the reason
I keep writing about you
is because I'm not ready
to write about someone else.
I feel you
between my words.
Your absence
walks beside me.
Maybe
I like this stupid ache.
It's not fair
to anyone
to be compared to you.
Instead of noticing girls
I sit with your essence
It's still here
and the words
are still coming out.
Maybe
this is the closest
I can get
to kneeling before you.
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