Puppeteer

Upon learning that I had thrown every available piece of you away after we broke up, you tell me that you feel erased.

All the poetry you had written and pictures we had taken to keep memories sacred. Erased.

Maybe you don’t understand that no matter how much I try to erase your name from notebooks, the letters are engraved into each page and I can’t write anymore without seeing you.

Sometimes a person will have handwriting so similar to yours that the page blurs and all I see is your small smile as I read from torn pages of inky words that you covered me in to keep my mind full.

The other day I heard someone breathing as they slept on the bus a few seats down from me. At the next stop, the doors open and my old friend loneliness walks in. He sits next to me with a grin. I close my eyes to shut him out but my imagination wanders and suddenly the slow breathing isn’t from that stranger a few seats down anymore. I feel your breath on the back of my neck as the sleeping passenger indulges me.

There are parts of my skin that I accidentally graze over and subconsciously wince. Those pieces of flesh are still smoldering from where your lips seared me, sometimes I pray that my skin sends smoke signals and you’ll come back to rescue me.

I never needed any poetry or pictures to remember you. I still remember every small detail of you. Innocent strangers become my puppets as I mold them into incomplete versions of you. I don’t remember the exact words you wrote but I do remember that when you read those words to me, you looked up through gleaming eyes and waited for me to say something but all I could say was “Wow” because I had finally met someone who could bring me to my literary knees. You replied with a little smile and a “yeah”

I admit I may not have those pictures but I still remember how cold the water was when I took off my shoes to cross the river at Graffiti Falls and when you saw my red toes, you made a bridge out of all the big rocks you could find so my trip back would be comfortable.

I remember taking off your clothes for the first time and that laugh you let out when I asked about your tattoos and the sigh when I asked about your scars.

I remember meeting your kids and seeing you in every detail of them and realizing how strong your jawline was.

I remember holding your hand for the first time and feeling safe even though you told me that everyone was afraid of you.

I remember the first time you said you loved me and you were angry about it.

I wish you could climb into my mind right behind my eyeballs and see all my memories. You see, no matter how much I try to erase you, your name is still engraved on this page I’m writing on and even if I tear it out and throw it away, your name will be on the next one too and I’ll be forced to find new puppets to mold.