In this scene I sit at your grave,
and put a flower in the vase that your mother uses.
Cold gravel crackles under my feet;
I hope your mother is okay.
I look at the old picture of your face,
the you that isn’t silver dust
and I ask you,
do you think it’s possible to fall out of love with the dead?
This is just a scene I play in my head
because it’s disrespectful to tell the dead
that the world has kept on moving.
I place a lipstick kiss on grey-veined marble
sometimes I think they took you
so that I could find where I needed to go
they chopped away my roots to make me weightless enough
to drift away from this place.
You don’t tell the dead these things.
(Perhaps, I tell you as I feel you reading over my shoulder
this is what it feels like to reach the end of grief.
Perhaps I haven’t fallen out of love;
you’ve just become less of a centre-point,
and more of a companion.)
Previously published on Tumblr under crocksweet.tumblr.com
Lilly is a freelance writer, editor and artist who loves working on new projects and keeps forgetting to look for a Real Job. She is writing two novels at the moment and trying to find the time to get better at art along the way. You can contact her at email@example.com or commission some artwork from her at https://lillywhiteart.tumblr.com/commissions