I memorized the pattern of your curls-
The slope of each individual one clinging to your forehead in the same stubborn way it always has,
I committed it to memory just like I did with the sound of your heartbeat the night we laid on my couch.
And I’ve never had a favorite ghost before-
Usually they sit in the corners of my mind and tug on my sanity like it’s a balloon,
But yours is subtle and gentle in the same ways you were.
I still sit by the window and wait for you to come back from the pavement.
And I spent a week being memorized-
Favorite drink orders.
A box of tissues in every room for my convenience.
Gentleness in the ways that only come when you genuinely consider what someone has been through.
I still came back to silence-
And your absence in my phone exactly where I’d left it.
I hope you get up from the pavement someday.
I once learned the pattern of your curls-
Memorized the thumps of the beat in your chest.
Now I have to learn how to stop waiting for my favorite ghost to come home.
