I’ve come to understand the saying:

Too good at goodbyes.

I see them everywhere.

If only it _were_ a mystery.

I know who they are.

Their smiles and their tease

Some people I came to want, to please.

They left. But they follow me.

I see him in the ghosts.

And him in hastily scribbled notes.

I see him while I walk through dreams

And him stacked upon the shelves.

I see him with my family

And him in his shoes.

I see him when I need him and miss his advice.

Stuck in a place he used to make nice.

I see all of them in the middle of music.

And all of them in laughter.

I see him between the pages and breaking my cages

I see him through a lense, a perfect picture when he asked me to hold on to something I had to let go.

I see him in Dr. pepper cans and the broken sunlight he left behind.

I see him in his innocent shrug and middle name.

I see him when I lift up another and their chorus brightens their day.

I see them in the tears and the fears and the pain and the sadness and the joy and the fun and the dull and the bitter and the back of my mind.

They follow me everywhere.

And I just miss them.

I miss my friends.