but not the way I used to.
The love that I felt for you
will always be a part of me -
a mosquito in amber
forever frozen within my heart.
I love you in the place
where the
eighteen year old
version of me resides,
drunk on freedom and
high on your laughter.
The part of me that knows
what it's like to be
happy
and to
live...
but I am no longer
eighteen years old.
The feel of your laughter
echoes like an old
phonograph and the
moments with you
replay in my mind
on a loop
like the crackling sound of
skipping vinyl.
Every once in a while I like to
take your memory off the
shelf,
brush the dust off
and place it
delicately
on the turntable.
It is an antique, after all.
Like looking at old photographs,
your memory is there,
but I have become
removed
from it, like the
ghost of a ghost.
I can never shake the
sensation of being
haunted.