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Remembering

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I told myself I would love you forever, and I try really hard not to forget things like that. Sometimes I do, but then I find old poems in forgotten drawers and I remember. Your fingers hid our souls in the knots of my spine and the tangles of my hair. They shake. I’ve convinced myself that running will never work. They just follow.

My voice isn’t the same. I think one of your ghosts worked its way through my bones and into my tongue, because sometimes I speak and I swear I breathe a part of you too. The moments between us were few, but they were bright. They were stars that managed to shine through the smog of the cities. Only a few people bother to find those things, you know.

I walk through the places we abandoned. I try to see you in the bricks. They’re old and crumbling, but I know I’ll still love you as long as you’re still there. I look in the folds of my blankets and in the creases of my smiles. You sleep in spaces like these - coins discovered in dirty pocket, yellowed books on dusty shelves.

I do this so I can remember the time when the sky was pink and the grass whistled. Heads belonged on shoulders. Our toes were numb, but you looked at me like I was a summer day and I looked right back. I don’t have that now. I don’t have you now. But you’re still between those piano keys. You still whisper about the time when we had something… more.




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