I Don’t Know If I Ever Stopped Loving You


it’s been two years
since i last saw you,
but i’m still writing
poems about you.
honestly, i’m a little
sick of thinking about
you, but god,
you left me with such
beautiful memories,
and i don’t want to
let you go.
it’s been two years
and i’m still not ready
to gather all of our sunday
coffee shop afternoons –
all of your feather-soft smiles,
all of your seraphic words,
all of my trembling hands
and wide-eyed wonder
and cheeks painted red over
twin cups of coffee –
and let them slip away,
spill through the gaps between
my fingers like holy water,
like time in an hourglass,
into a little vintage box
in the attic.
the truth? i’m scared of
burying that box under
dust and cobwebs,
under pretenses and
masquerades of moving on.
i’m scared of letting it get
lost among the skeletons
i haven’t visited or
touched in years.
i don’t know if i ever
stopped loving you –
you’re the first person
who ever believed in me
even though my hands
shake too much,
and i’m scared that i’ll
forget how my clockwork
heart beat along to the
way you said my name.
i’m scared that i’ll
forget you.