Ghosts

I’m finding myself here again. 
Every road map has your name written on it. 
This city was yours. 

We could've owned it together even though we're as tiny as the tip of my pinky finger. 
I'm seeing your eyes in every streetlamp and flashing sign. 
I’ve been thinking about kissing you,
and then thinking about how you don’t want to see me,
I could probably give about 15 different renditions of Katy Perry’s Hot N Cold at the moment.
I have been doing so much to get you off my mind. I’m trying.
I’ve gotten ahead in my schoolwork, but in the middle of reading Macbeth I was crying, and it was not because I was emotionally moved by King Duncan's death. Obviously. Shakespeare was a nice guy, but I'm not going to break down crying over him.
I’ve been drinking so much water to balance out all the crying but I’m still dehydrated from being so intoxicated with you, anything going in comes straight back out my eyes and puddles in my collarbones, 
I wish you were in my collarbones.
I used to talk to you about all my secrets, but now I tell complete strangers
just to remind myself I will always be open,
and I wasn't open and over sharing exclusively with you.
You have ruined my poetry, but have created an entirely new level of self deprecating comedy.
You drive me completely nuts and I don’t think my Wellbutrin covers this kind of crazy.
At least I know what to do with that kind of crazy.
I miss you so much I bought the same shampoo you have - sea mineral moisture - I don't know if I was smelling sea salt or the salt from my tears.
I’m sitting in the shower and I’m thinking about our first kiss, and I’m smiling so hard my cheeks hurt, still just as much as they did on that day. 
At the same time, I'm crying so hard my eyes are swelling, 
my cheeks and eyes are in a competition to see which can burst more quickly, 
my pale eyes went as blue as your hair, but my face was as red as the sweater I gave you for your birthday.
I started thinking about when I used to kiss constellations in between your shoulder blades. 
I want to get far enough into my head that I find a new planet your stars don’t extend to. 
I want my own planet outside of your gravity, where I can see my own shine,
where I can feel my own moonbeams.
I read that your skin gets replaced "every 7 years, so then I’ll be untouched by you", apparently, but I won't wait for that, I am impatient, I am sensitive, I am tainted, I am always reminded of this. 
I’m exfoliating every other day, my skin is soft, but the smell of tea tree oil doesn’t cover up the traces of your pink chiffon lotion.
You’re driving me absolutely crazy and I can’t find the map back to sanity, I’m going in circles and coming back to the start.
At this point, I’m thinking about finding the nearest exit and just diving off a bridge.
When I drown and ascend to the sky, will I be scattered among your stars or my own?

I wrote this poem a little over a month ago.
I feel like I'm breaking some kind of fourth wall by acknowledging that and adding onto this rather than starting over.
That was always how I was - adding onto old things instead of starting over.
I wrote this 25 days before you left me.
I haven't heard your voice in 2 months.
I always thought that I'd collapse once you left.
I am whole, I am independent, I know this, but I feel incomplete.
When you came back and said you just needed a break,
I felt so much relief, but I also felt so much fear.
How long is a break? 
What did I do to deserve this?
Why did you treat me so badly?
why am I so willing to let that happen again?
Why am I so eager to have my heart broken by you?
I suppose we were made of magic.
I never believed in fairies or ghosts, 
but I knew the gleam in our eyes had something to do with magic.
There had to be a pair of tiny, dusty wings fluttering across my skin to make me feel like this.
The day you left, the weight in my chest could only be described as paranormal.
Distant, untouchable, a ghost locked around my heart, I felt like it was the only thing left for me. 
The month before you left, we were fighting, and I knew it was almost over. 
I finally said that I was in love with you. 
I didn't say it to you, but I said it to myself.
It felt like a jackhammer was being taken to my concrete chest,
it terrified me.
I don't know how to adequately end this.
I don't know what I'm trying to say.
My feelings stop and start with you, 
there isn't a clear ending. 
I was never good at endings.
And I was never good at goodbyes.
Our story is unfinished.
To be continued.
Someday.