He told me
That I'm not over you

He can tell
By how everything I write
Has traces of you in it

I tell him
This is not true
That I do not directly
Write about anyone
Anymore

But see,
The spaces between words
That's where you fit in
I don't even need your name
For you to be mentioned
Just a hint of your memory
Or the way I describe
A body that is no longer next to mine
Provides enough insight
For anyone to guess
That you are still very much
On my mind

You are in every sentence
Every stanza
Every syllable
Every breath

But he is wrong
To say
I am not over
When I have already passed the finish line

Yes I still write you
Everywhere
But only because
I have nowhere else to stick you
And I like the idea
Of rewriting a story
In order to remember what you want to

You sound much better in poetry
Than you do in real life
And your description tastes much better
When it is drenched in metaphor

I like to make you
Sound pretty
Even if we ended
In so much ugly

He told me
That I'm not over you

He can tell
By how everything I write
Has traces of you in it

But I am over you
I have been
For quite a while

My heart
On the other hand
Is still learning
To let go.