Not Letting Go

There is something to be said
For the love that hangs around
Like the low-lying fruit of a persimmon tree
  It sort of dangles
    Like it wants someone to feel its weight
      Someone to have its nourishment
        Someone to taste its bones
But instead, it laces itself around everywhere I go,
  Everything I feel,
    Everything I think,
      Everything I do.
It’s as if his name is embedded into my veins,
And my blood won’t flow without remembering him. 

And when I finally think he’s gone for good… 

There he is—
Showing up in my dreams
Racing across the chalkboard as I write notes
            about transcendentalism for my English class
Appearing in the heaviness of a dark pink sunset,
            or in between my hand and another man’s
He drapes along the seam of my underwear as I sleep
He lives in my shadow
            and in the slowness of the hands of a clock
And, soon, I realize


About laurenfedorko

Aspiring writer. English teacher. Philosophy: know more about the world than you did yesterday and lessen the suffering of others.
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