What am I doing here again, visiting your grave?
I thought you were well buried, but I heard a song that reminded me of you, so here I am, talking to a ghost.
I can feel old sparks being rekindled by my imagination.
I can see memories flashing before my eyes, like stars lighting up the dark.
Because there are so many traits about you that I have not forgotten yet.
Your eyes, your smile, the way we laughed, and how you walked.
I know I am just a fool who bought your good-priced love.
I should have forgotten you and our high school story,
but your grave still looks so attractive to me.
Is it too crazy to question your death?
Because, what if I dig in your grave and I find nothing?
What if you have never been buried?
Related Subjects
Poetry