Contemplation

The Ghost Of My Innocence

I miss you

I wonder how many poems I will write about you

I sometimes hear your voice in the songs you used to sing

I miss you

Do you sing in heaven?

Do you miss us?

Is that something you can do after you die?

Miss someone?

I drive your car

I kept your guitar picks

Your guitars are gathering dust in a cabinet

Likely out of tune after almost half a decade

I have the one you gave me

Small enough for me

Not to big

Just right

It reminds me of oak

I tried to play it years ago

I keep telling myself that I will pick it up

Pull it out of the case that it lays in and play it

But it hurts

I wish it didn't

Such a beautiful thing music is

But the guitar for some reason feels like it belongs to a ghost

Not you

But myself

The young innocent girl I was before you died

I feel like I don't deserve to play it

I'm older now

I feel unworthy

I am not the person you used to know

Merely a shadow of the child you raised

I miss you

Maybe one day in my dreams you can stop by and play me a tune