It's days like these you wish the lion had killed you.

I thought about you again today.
Please leave.
Please.

I see you everywhere...
I've run so far to escape every inch of you, but only found you embedded within great heights.
This subject matter is beginning to wear my mind quite thin. If only my thoughts would be cleansed from my mind as they escaped my lips and fingertips; if only for a moment. But instead, they run laps...much as they say laps do. TheytheyThey.
There was a time when these laps stretched and excercised the muscle curves of my face, but it only wears thin the strength of my interior.
I never really understood why your physical being left, only to leave behind this need to ask your memory away.
There are pages of trees with you written in like a failed attempt at carving you out of my brain.
I can no longer think words, more failed attempts, at cleansing, repairing, and living.
But I am finding again that I am falling short.
Much as everything else about me had, and I am falling hard.
I never really was a fan of this fast and helpless direction toward the pavement, heels over head, head over heels, and silly. And I definitely am not a fan of this familiar dirty concrete against my cheekbone, grazing me quite nicely for the world to see. This sting is lasting, and it's worse than the quick pull of adhesive against the tiny arm hairs around old scabs. It happened so quickly, but there was this small warning before the real seperation; the small pinpricks of hesitation before the real pull occurs...tiny little shocks that tell your nerves something isn't quite right, but the pull occurs nonetheless.

I want to stop writing about you. Even as I write of others that have been since, you are laced within the words. Too many trees are dying because my words don't suffice much as they never have.

Some days, I think it best to remove the part of me that recalls that you ever existed. The burnt kind of images are always the most lasting, as ephemeral as people are. As ephemeral as the sound of words from lips to pretend bone. I think something like the analogy about a burning pheonix belongs here, but my words aren't enough, and nothing has been reborn aside from nostalgia- over and over again.

Gross.