How can I unwrite you?

How can I…

when in every word,

in every paragraph,

and in every page,

all I can think of

is you.

Your eyes under the sun,

Your smile as you giggle,

and your voice

whenever I crack a joke.

Your character still seems

all too familiar.

Our story long ended—

a book with twelve chapters,

three hundred sixty-five pages,

then on the final leaf,

we finally said

our goodbyes.

“You know I tried.”

This, a line often found

in most chapters,

mirrors of twists,

of lies and tears

we tried to overcome.

How can I unwrite you?

When your name

has remained a footnote,

the primary source I cite

for every heartbreak

and every sunrise.

I have long closed the book,

of a love

that has already met

its end.

How can I unwrite you?

How can I…

when I am the one

who held the pen.