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.