Sometimes I wonder what part of me you took when you left. I know that I just feel empty in my own hands. But surely you don’t. What part are you left with, what part of me exactly.

Maybe it was the way I sounded when I yawned in the morning when I woke next to you.

Maybe it was the way my breath broke melodically when you placed your hand around the nape of my neck.

Maybe it was the way my hand traced over your back soft enough to cut through smoke.

Maybe it was my smile and my teeth that you always said were so big and so white.

Maybe it was the look I gave you when you talked about a new project you had; you know the look that never ended.

I was never yours, but I always felt like a tiny part of me belonged to you.

Every time a new person leaves, I think they take a tiny part of us what we must refill over and over. How long until we can feel whole again.

-d.k.xx