Holes

Why do people come in particular shapes?
And leaves holes in each place they stay?
That can’t be filled up or be replaced
And thus lies the greatest of all human banes

Why is it your shape lingers in each thing I own?
Everything a reminder of your recluse?
Why do I search for you in each person that I know?
What magic is this that refuses to break hold?

I can still trace from memory; your form
Supple, soft, sweet, and whole
A you shaped hole in my heart and my home
A reminder of all that I am not

Can I point to where it all went wrong?
Though you promise there was nothing to being with at all
Is there peace in surrendering to destiny and sorts?
Or does the regret just mounts on and on?