you’re not mine anymore,
but sometimes i forget.
i still turn toward the sound
of your name like instinct,
like how birds are drawn north.

you were saturday mornings and saxophone solos,
the quiet buzz during swim meets,
the boy who held my words
like they were something sacred.

i still see your eyes
in coffee cups and the sun,
still hear your laugh
in the songs i swore
i’d stop listening to.

some loves don’t leave.
and missing you,
it’s a kind of music now.
not always loud.
just always playing.