Lessons In Losing You Twice

It wasn't difficult to learn the history of you, to wipe away the foreign imprints of other souls, and misplaced fingertips on the geography of your body. The hard part was allowing my hands to fall, learning to unweave my fingers from yours, and stop the awful ticking seconds of remembering you. I managed to walk away, slightly scathed, still able to smile. But, I still write the poems. I never learned how to stop writing you into the pages. What was once my escape only pushes me in remembering us, making me realize that your absence was never truly real. And now you sleep under a blanket of bombs, learning the art of tourniquets and bloodshed. And I'm still here, trying to figure out how to forget you.