Your figure is still hanging on my bedroom wall. Once it was a shadow. I'd look behind you and see your silhouette imbued in darkness ever fading into the falling sun. Now all that's left of it is an imprint, a memory. Yet even the memories fade, like a shadow in darkness. Even the jocular ones. At night I lay in bed without you, mouth ope, and sometimes legs too. When I turn off the lights I feel your shadow around me, enveloping walls, floor, and ceiling, each surface informing me of your absence. I tell myself that at least in the morning, I'll feel okay.
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