Thoughts of you drip from my fingers and everything I touch becomes saturated.
I don’t remember you as anything more than arid and barren so how did this happen?
When did drought manifest into deluge?
And yet here I stand, holding cupped hands, while memories of you flood between my palms, drenching my fingers and soaking through my life.
My shoes are soggy now and everywhere I go I leave wet footprints of you behind.
New lovers make me wipe my feet before entering their lives…but I still leave a puddle of mess.
This would strike me as ironically amusing if I wasn’t so dehydrated since you left.