the last bits of you are stored in a weird place in me.

i guess i cried too much, cause now all the chemicals

that tied you down washed you out, and i'm forgetting.

if i wrote it down, would it wind you up? the things you

left dwindle in the few: a birthday card, a teddy bear.

i couldn't keep what you meant me to love, so i threw

it all away. living life in the sun means that you forget

winter, deep ache, settled in for the year. this life

is so much better than the last, but forgetting means

not remembering forever.