Rose Goodman

I can’t stop picturing you with her; the way you used to kiss and how you’d hold her close to your body and inhale her scent.

I spent that year fighting with myself because I knew I’d never find another you. I knew I’d only find pieces of you in those that came after. Of course those pieces would never be as special or as raw as they are in you. Just copies, slightly fragmented, nowhere near perfect.