I can still see the veins that lined your hands. I can still see your eyelashes that brushed against your cheeks.
I wish I were blind.
I can smell the lavender I put in your hair and the wine you spilled on your white shirt.
I cannot stand the smell of grapes.
I can hear your voice, like a symphony with perfected notes, although I was never your conductor.
I close my ears to all the music in the world now.
I can still feel you, shoulder bumping up against mine, the rolling of my stomach like losing gravity.
I haven’t found my balance since.
But most haunting is that I still taste you,
lingering on my tongue, waking with the remnant of you in my mouth.
As if you never left.