I am haunted. Although you are long gone. Haunted by your presence, by your brown eyes, by the intensity of your desire, the magic of your words. Days go by, weeks follow, weeks wind up into months and still you are gone. Like a lurking emptiness in the shadows of my heart. Like a constant drum in the inevitability of my existence. I look for you around every corner I turn, gazing at the expansion of water, in the mountain roads, in the narrow streets of your city. Everywhere I go, every step I take, I take a deep breath and look for you like the constant of a mark on my skin. The static of a blood clot. The bruise mark from a hungry kiss.
The clock turns back. We are at it again, those sunny February days, you and me at the run down joint behind our place. It’s February again, I sit at our spot alone. You are long gone, yet I am haunted. Your pull is so hard, I can’t wrench myself free. Your voice so low, it makes me shiver. My fingers trace the outline of your skin in the familiarity of shadows. The songs you played, take me back to your eyes. Your eyes staring unflinching at me from behind a roomful of people. Unflinching, unblinking, unwavering eyes. Eyes that isolate me, pin me down against the wall. The spell you weave, I cannot look away. I will not look away.
Although you are long gone, I still feel your laughter echoing through my brain. The humdrum of regularity around me, I sit back in our corner, inhale you, your smell from the coffee you liked so much. Words are just that, words, you used to say. There is so much beyond and apart. I knew I would find you in the loneliness of the mountains, the endlessness of the gorges and the ravines that is home to your spirit. I look for you everywhere and yet I can’t. Can’t erode you away, can’t rub away your touch. Can’t look away from those eyes. I still wear your chance on my skin, looking for you at every corner, calling your name in my sleep. I say, it is pretense. The anger in your voice, the hurt in my eyes, if only I could trace them back. Back into your arms again.
The clock turns back. We are at it again, those sunny February days, you and me at the run down joint behind our place. It’s February again, I sit at our spot alone. You are long gone, yet I am haunted. Your pull is so hard, I can’t wrench myself free. Your voice so low, it makes me shiver. My fingers trace the outline of your skin in the familiarity of shadows. The songs you played, take me back to your eyes. Your eyes staring unflinching at me from behind a roomful of people. Unflinching, unblinking, unwavering eyes. Eyes that isolate me, pin me down against the wall. The spell you weave, I cannot look away. I will not look away.
Although you are long gone, I still feel your laughter echoing through my brain. The humdrum of regularity around me, I sit back in our corner, inhale you, your smell from the coffee you liked so much. Words are just that, words, you used to say. There is so much beyond and apart. I knew I would find you in the loneliness of the mountains, the endlessness of the gorges and the ravines that is home to your spirit. I look for you everywhere and yet I can’t. Can’t erode you away, can’t rub away your touch. Can’t look away from those eyes. I still wear your chance on my skin, looking for you at every corner, calling your name in my sleep. I say, it is pretense. The anger in your voice, the hurt in my eyes, if only I could trace them back. Back into your arms again.
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