Still

And still, you exist, somewhere up north, and of course, in the confines of every breath in my lungs. Still, you visit me, in dreams and in dreams of dreams, to the sound of country music and an opening front door and wedding bells. Still, you haunt my eyes in shadows, coloring my face with your wraith-like presence, my cheeks flushing with a warmth untrue. You ring in my ears like a lie, keep my bed cold like a blankety mist, and hold me in sleep, ever so restless. My essence is made up of words you have spoken. In places I cannot separate you from me, cannot untangle your deeds from my perception; my glasses are tinted the color of your eyes. Your body may be miles away, your voice carrying to ears not mine, your time eaten away by the exterior void, but a piece of you follows me, and a piece of me lays in the dark with you, holding out hope for the maybes and the could bes, grasping for straws in a desolate room that we once inhabited together, now vacant. You echo through and fill the space with confidence, still, the marks on your arms still a nightmare that I live in, over and over, just whispering prayers for you and watching the horizon, hoping to see your figure, looming, to swallow my life again.