She’s here

“She is gone. Just forget her” —all lies. She is not gone, she is here, in my soul, in my heart. “Let her go” —no, I won’t. She is still here, I can see her, feel her. She lives in every letter of every word of my poem. Each stroke of my pen carries her name. My heart beats in the rhythm of her humming. “She’s gone.” Shut up, she’s not. Don’t lie to me. You’re gone, they say, my love— why can’t they see you? See you in myself? I still feel your hand on mine, my head on your lap, your soothing voice singing me lullabies. Tell them, my love, tell them you are still here— then they would believe me. “Break out of it. She’s no longer here.” No. She is here. Aren’t you, my love? Why is it that it is only I who sees you, and no one else? Have they all gone mad? You are right beside me. You are holding my arm. Such fools they are— to not see you. “She’s gone. Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP.” NO. No. Shut up. Just shut up. Don’t lie. She’s here. With me.