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March 21, 2013
You were my vanilla tea,
my perfume,
my navy shoes with the holes in them,
the records with the most scratches on them,
the movies I grew up watching.
When we met, I didn't know what to do with you so I stuck pieces of you in small areas, spread them around like seeds.
Each planted with a different memory, flowering your way into my every memory.
I lose your features,
the softness of your eyes,
the deepness of your voice,
how the winter had chapped your hands.
I lose the picture of you and I fill you will songs names and historical figures,
late night conversations
and our lives 100 miles apart.
The flowers wilt while time and you move on, and I am stuck with the garden of us perfectly wholesome and empty.
Every day I hope the pictures get a little less clear, and you become more faded.
Every day I hope to take you out of parts of my daily life.
Maybe the lyrics of our song will fall apart in my heart like those flowers you gave me.
Maybe your face will form less lines and more waves, crashing over my memory eroding the awaiting beach, slowly, daily.
I'm trying to lose you, but I just end up losing myself somewhere in your features that I forgot to encode.
Time doesn't heal, time hurts. Every time I see you I fall back into your visage and you take my heart the same way you took it the first day.
Let me get lost in your features as we become the roads between our towns.
Let me be the space you created when we met.
Let you lose me the way I am losing me.

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