i think i have washed my skin enough times to say today that my body is completely free of your fingerprints. it’s been exactly two months and six days since you’ve touched me last and i think that’s more than enough time. i think you’re off me.

are you out of my system though. why am i still having dreams about you. why am i still writing about you. i know we studied anatomy together but i don’t recall getting to the part about heartstrings. maybe you did though. maybe you went behind my back like the liar you are and read ahead. learned how to tie heartstrings in a knot so fucking hard to undo. that’s what you did isn’t it. you probably snuck that trick in while we were in bed and i was vulnerable didn’t you. maybe that’s why it feels like you’re still in me.

you know. i see right through you. you think i don’t but i do. you think you hold so much power over me but i know i hold just the same amount of power over you. what on earth do you do when you slide your skinny arms through the arms of the windbreaker i got you for your birthday. you think i don’t know that you wear that shit almost everyday to class even though it’s been two months and six days since you’ve touched me last. oh but i do. i know you think of me at least once a day. when you put it on or when you take it off. i don’t know but i know i’m there. i know i’m still in your goddamned system you liar. you act like i don’t faze you but i fucking know i do. i know you still check my instagram. i know you still watch my stories. i know you still read my poetry. the ones that i wrote for you when i was so close to falling in love with your system. the ones you copied and pasted into your phone notes so that even though you deleted my messages for girl #23 to never see you can still read my poetry. locked up. hidden away somewhere where #23 won’t ever get to. especially if you leave her. she’ll never get to you.

is it not crazy that the last traces you have of my fingerprints were on that windbreaker. is it not crazy that you put it on almost everyday. do you remember when i touched the backs of your ears and you told me holy shit nobody’s ever made me feel that way before. how i left my fingerprints there. i wonder if you sit in the library thinking about the work you haven’t gotten to yet. if you let your hands move ever so absentmindedly to the spots behind your ears that you know only i’ve gotten to. does girl #23 know?

you are not the last person i’ve kissed. i’m grateful. there are lips more deserving of my human anatomy. i know i’ve always cared about your education but for the first time i’m so fucking glad you failed a course.

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