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By Leanne Webber

Perpetually wandering,


yet heavy footed and heavy hearted,

on this slow-vibrating stage.

In the absence

of this presence,

this apparition.

I latch to the intangible

to escape the density.

Existing only

as a ghost of my own past.

remembering her tracks,

her old tricks, her life hacks,

her thoughts, special places,

her sensations, old faces,

her hopes, ambitions,

pastimes, and visions.

But not her feelings.

They have mostly faded

like sun deprived grass.

I cannot relate to my former self,

yet I can see right through her

like polished glass.

I haven't got a handle

on what fuelled her,

or what possessed her

to stay in her avatar.

Was she real?

or just a figment of my imagination?

What on earth kept her going?

I miss her.

Her desire to strive.

That will never be forgotten.

Her capacity to love?

That will never be lost.

But the churning in her stomach?

That will never be missed.

Though in fact I could live

with that again -

If only for a while,

and if only to remind me,

that she may be dead,

but I am still very much alive.


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