hot candle wax

I stopped writing poetry when I realized every poem I wrote, whether intentional or not, 

was about you.

I didn't think you deserved anything more than "goodbye".

What happened between you and me was a long time ago, after all.

So I stopped writing you down on paper.

A ghost outlined in ink and pencil lead.

And you faded away into a blurry silhouette that reappeared only when I wanted you to.
When I was comfortable with your chalky presence.

I eventually forgot what color your eyes were, the sound of your voice.

Memories we created fell from my mind like hot candle wax.

I forgot you.

Then one day, everything about you, everything I suppressed and erased came rushing back,

almost as if you were standing right in front of me again.

You found a way to fill the transparency with solid lines and shadows.
And now I'm once again filling in the rest with ink and pencil lead.