the living ones

There’s so much loneliness
in this room full of people
where I reside like a ghost
leaning against a wall
drowning my brain in the music
of my iPod
because I’d rather drown in music
than in silent invisibility

I love city street crowds
because we can all be no one together

She died and no one told me
no one thought to call
reinforcing my lack of self
as though my love for her didn’t matter
when she was the only one that ever gave a fuck
in that room full of people
who only remembered my name
when I was pretending
to be one of them

I pass her ghost on the bus
and my heart speeds up
am I going mad?
No, it’s just her memory
a temporary mask on the outside
of someone else’s face
reminding me that the dead
are never really forgotten
when a part of them lives inside us
unlike the living who are easily forgotten
in the hum drum of life
their memory not worth the page this is printed on
for the simple fact they’re still alive

I remember
I am alive

© Indie Adams