you ripped me apart today
but i stitched myself together with a strand of thread
torn from an old jacket that you loaned me on that day
not the day you told me you loved me
with the Hollywood sun shining down on our heads;
it was the other day
the day the wind threatened to chill us all,
the day i thought that the weather was the temper of the world
and the ocean was an army just waiting to swallow us whole.
it was the day you took my hand and promised me the world
but at the time I wasn’t listening;
I was too busy feeling the warmth of your hand
and the crease of your palm pressed against mine.
but these are only memories, and on this day i would do anything
to
leave
them.
but you of all people should know how it is,
the things I’d like most to forget are the ones
that play over and over on the turntable of my brain,
like that opera that you hope ends soon
but really
never
ends.
i can’t remember the point or purpose of this rhyme, I’m tangled up in the loose ends of these sutures that i’m stitching and really, I should probably
focus
on what’s right now
instead of
what is or isn’t
or was or will be.
but i’ll be honest and tell you know
each stitch only drives home
my worst memories.