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.

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