The facet has been leaking for days. The sound echoes through my empty halls and creeps into my room. It holds me from sleep. And I’m haunted by the memory of your beating chest. The one I once found shelter on. My head plays it into rhythm with each portioned drop of water drumming on the sink.
I can picture your chest rise and fall with every blessed breath of air. And my body aches in this memory. I know touch; it’s the only thing that’s real to me. And the fact that my finger tips will never know your skin again, will grow mad in me.
And there I’ll lie, insignificant and inadequate to my own memories, like I’ve been all along. It’s a lonely feeling, being the one that’s left. But I will collect myself, and I will live again. You will grow a distant memory. The boy I once knew.