Seven Years

They did the math, you know
Every seven years, your cells have all replaced themselves
You have a new skin
And probably smell different
Every seven years

This means
I can figure out exactly
To the day
The moment when none of me
will have ever touched any part of you
And when you will no longer smell
The way you used to.

Sometimes, I scrub extra hard
When I shower
Just to try to move that date up just a bit
To erase you completely
From my entire being.
Even if I can’t quite get you out of my mind
Ever again
At least one day
My skin will never have known you.

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This entry was posted in heartbreak, loss, love, Poem and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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