I carry you
at my center,
near the core
of my existence.
You sit quietly
where the memory
is best,
unjaded by
time’s wicked waltz.
You ride there
on the edges
of my skin,
hiding in the cracks
in my walls,
for you are the mortar
that holds me together,
that binds my puzzle pieces
into more than separation.
I see you
in the periphery
of my longings,
of my every day.
You bloom
from insignificant conversations
in  back seats
and around dinner tables,
in distant melodies
and cups of steaming coffee.
You are my center
and my sides
and my beginnings
and endings.
You are my nights
filled with imagined stars
on a strange ceiling
in a house
you don’t remember.
I am letters
in a box
you can’t throw away
and we are dreams
of a past
that should have turned
into a future.
We are all
and nothing
all tied up together.
We are always
what we can
never let go.


6 thoughts on “Carry

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