I had all of you,

Most of you.

Loving you,

Close to you.


You meant the most to me

I meant the most to you


Now I have most of you,

Some of you,

None of you.


My body’s a ghost of me

Missing the fun of you.


Our words became hollow,

Expected to fill.

But words that are empty

Give emptiness still.


For when you judge someone,

You put up a wall.

And no matter the climb

You choose that they fall.


There’s a rift between choosing

To ask or ignore

But give reassurance

So at least I know this:

Is the one that I love

Still the one that I miss?


Or should this then be asked,

Does it comes from above?

Is the one that I miss

Still the one that I love?

This poem is about: 


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