Sullivan

 In the place where you used to be,

I build a ghost of you 

from our memories.

Coffee,

never quite enough for you,

in a color-changing cup,

though the drink was always too warm.

The soft hum of your music

playing through your AirPods,

just loud enough

to blanket the two of us.

The flipping of your book's pages

and the scratch of your pen's cursive,

drinking in the story

as inspiration for your own.

The clicking of your keyboard

when you finally begin to write

the tale you're too terrified

to show anyone else.

Your eyes,

brilliant blue,

dart across your screen

as you read over your piece.

Your golden locks,

streaked red with our friendship,

are pulled up into a bun,

enhancing your beauty even further.

You sigh,

again and again,

frustrated with your progress,

or perhaps just tired of the day already.

I don't need to face you

to know that you're glancing at the clock,

willing the hands to spin faster

and finally set you free.

And when I inevitably cave in

and spin around to see you,

you smile,

bright, lovely, and warm.

But today

when I turn to greet you,

I see that even the ghost I've created

has vanished from my life.

-Evelyn Huang