Ghosted

He took a look around my room

something

was declared to be very me.

 

Stumbled upon my cologne and quickly corrected

himself “No.

this is very you”.

 

The way he said it, I was already a memory

a fondness

standing right in front of him.                    Was I?

 

Deemed an inanimate object made me

small and lifeless

and round.

 

He put it down without even smelling it, as if he didn’t know

W                    H                     Y

he bothered picking it up in the first place.

 

I now live in his memory alone.                   Am I even flesh?

Some remote mausoleum in the corner of his mind

mere feet away from                       .

 

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