The piece of you stuck in me

On nights like this I think of him

By nights like this, I mean every other night

And by think of him I mean lament

I mean mourn

I mean smile while I’m doing something else

Smile to myself while I’m showering

and drinking chamomile tea

and playing Animal Crossing

and blinking slowly and cleaning my room

His name is a hum

It’s a song I can’t get out of my head

The rhythm thrums against my brain, tapping on every nerve at all times

I am the pollen of the echinacea

and he is the wind or the bumblebee or the rain or whatever other handsome and lovely thing that shakes me from my core.

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