Shrapnel

Though my mind and heart were at ease with the absence of him. Relieved, even. But the familiarity built inside of me from the previous year and a half was taking its time leaving. It felt as though I was having to pull parts of him out of every cell, like a surgeon removing shrapnel. The ones in my eyes were being the most troublesome. They played tricks on my understanding. Seeing him in people that after a moment passed were proved not to be. I had ran into him, the real him, a few times since the removal, and I always seemed to get knocked on my ass by the impact.