But I remember, you said…






dust bunnies and discarded thought

somewhere in there you found us waiting,

white-knuckled fingers crossed kind of waiting

the kind where unfurled hands ached at the movement

and the perception of it pained us more.


Funny looking and awkward

crumpled paper balls of memory with faded scrawl

like there had been a when but you couldn’t recall,

just like the knots in your hair you furiously brushed at it

hacked at it

scowled at it for not being the beautiful you had wanted

and all I could do was think how I loved the knots

would miss them when they were gone.


You took hold of the tattered memories

all wide-eyed and expectant

looking to me waiting for praise in your findings

and completely ignoring the fact there was nothing left

but the vaguest of imprints of a was we once were,

the importance of the remembering is forgetting,

and for reasons best left out of this, I’d rather not think of it.


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