Ghost

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His trace inhabits every fraction of my mind,
lingering like a thousand dollar perfume,
lurking quietly in the shadow of anticipations.

What would i sing, if he's every song?
How could i speak, if he's my language?
What would i dream, if he's my only imagination?

Now that he ghosts and i am on my knees,
i've been counting days in the loudest silence,
wishing upon the pouring rain to cleanse away his stain. 

But deep down, i know he will never leave me completely. And i hope someday somehow he will know, that everytime i didn't reach out to him, i almost did.

       he's never really gone / k.u. 



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