I am told

i am told
i will leave holes in the spaces i leave behind

and i am told 
the air will grow cold
on the faces of the people i’ve known

and i am told 
if i go, nothing will ever be ok

but i feel made of mist already
and i feel like my soul is smoke

i am told that love, when lost, leaves behind ghosts of hope

but how can ghosts leave memories of your fleeting touch etched so deeply into my bones?

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