love is not something to be dissected

my parents
had a cute little silver frame
in their room
on their dresser
and inside was a little pink boat
with two little red hearts
and a cute little poem
about how love was hard,
like the sea
and how,
sometimes it was serene
and other times
it was stormy
and what mattered most
was how tight you held
on to each other
when the mast is
about to break
when the sails are in shreds
and the port side
is completely gone.

i was looking through
their room
the other day
for some answers
and i peeked under the bed
to see what monsters
were hidden there
and there was that frame
collecting dust.

I memorized it, you know.

I used to love that crap.

Poem, beginning of
eighth grade:
"I love love"
and then

i don't know

i honestly don't.

I barely remember it now
[and by remembering i mean
the kind of emotion memory
you have
where
your heart throbs the same way
in the same way
and you feel the need
to find every little cute piece
of debris from that day
the coke wrapper,
the movie ticket, the necklace,
now broken
and put them all on your bulletin board
on display.]





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