My memory is ever dwindling.

It does not burst forth in

obnoxious flashbacks, yet,

every once in a while,

I will be taken back in time

to places I do not want to go.


My memory tells me of a girl I loved,

whose dark brown eyes shone like a starry night,

and whose cross legged lap made the perfect pillow.


It tells me that she captured my heart by mistake,

obviously looking for someone who would be

worth her affections, like I, obviously, was not.


My heart would race around her, even months after

I forced myself to let go of the girl I wanted,

even if it meant leaving pieces of me behind in her path.


She does not know that I broke up with my first girlfriend because of her.

She does not know that I did the same thing with my first boyfriend.

I would continue to do this with each and every lover,

trying to find pieces of her in them, even when none could be found.


I tried to make peace.

It took me over a year to

even think about her without

wanting to rip my heart out from

behind my ribs and feed to to the wolves.


Every night, I either look at the moon,

think about the moon,

or blog about the moon

before I sleep,

holding onto the last bit of her that doesn't hurt.


Honeysuckles will forever taste like the dream of her lips.

Squirrels will always remind me of her eccentric flailing.

Cutting out paper snowflakes will always remind me of the way that

her eyes bore into mine, and she had to look away, but I refused to.

I refused to look away from the person whom I thought would

hold my heart in her palm for the rest of my life.


I was right. Some of my pieces are still there,

but the rest of them are here,

in this cavern made for a heart,

but don't worry.

I'm still finding new pieces that fit.