Dear Motel Room 17,

Do you remember my face?
I know you probably don’t,
but I need this and that’s okay because
the only things I remember of you are of him.

I don’t remember the color of your walls.
but the red in his face.
I don’t remember what blanket was on the bed
but sleeping next to him, underneath of it.

I don’t remember the paintings you hung up
but the “Do Not Disturb” sign he hung on the door.
I remember the long nights spent in your confinement,
but can’t remember how to get there anymore.

The one thing I’ll never forget is number 17 because I was 17
and I thought he was the world.
How could the world fit into your paper thin walls?
It couldn’t. It didn’t.

I’m sorry that’s all I remember
but I can’t get either of you out of my head.
and I’d really, really like to forget.

You were my May hummingbird
and how fast you flew amazed me.
When I fell in love with you,
I always thought you’d stay.

Then the weather became much colder
and how fast you flew amazed me.
The last time that I saw you,
I begged you not to leave.

He became my December cardinal
and how bright he was amazed me.
When I started to fall for him,
I feared that he would flee.

Then the seasons changed again,
and how he stayed amazed me.
I found I was in love with him
when I went to set him free.

He was my December cardinal,
who stayed all the way to May.
And though he never flew as fast as you,
he never flew away.

I am the type of person
who holds onto things too tight.
Unable to release my grip,
even if things aren’t right.

So although he gave me blisters,
and made all my fingers ache,
I always thought that holding on
was worth the pain it made.

But then I found while losing him,
I had lost part of me too.
Slowly even I had become
someone that I barely knew.

That summer I had learned that things
aren’t always meant to last for long.
Some arrive to teach us lessons,
and then continue on.

So maybe what you’re fighting for
just isn’t worth the cost.
Remember, not everything you’ll ever lose
is meant to be a loss.

You sketched me out with grey designs,
leaving room for changes.
You edited my story lines
by deleting all our pages.

You painted me with watercolors,
leaving an ever-changing hue.
Yet in the end what should’ve been
a familiar face, was one you barely knew.

All your teardrops on the paper
left marks between erased lines.
So it became so clear, my dear,
how much you had changed your mind.

Erasing, changing, rearranging
until you were done and pleased.
Then you stepped back to find that you
made me a disaster-piece.

I called your name until the fever broke    
but I caught my room on fire.      

It turned the clothes that were in my closet    
into bones of burnt desires.    

The sheets we used to sleep between    
are only ashes on my bed.    

All of the smoke that filled the air    
felt like your voice inside my head.    

These four walls became a furnace    
and nostalgia fueled the flames.    

Which made the arsonist in me    
want it all to stay ablaze.    

But it charred the lips that you used to kiss,    
and scorched the hands you used to hold.    

Yet, in a room of torrid memories,  
I’ve never felt this cold.

You told me you were made of glass,
and that your heart was far to thin.
But I did not believe you,
until I felt you cut my skin.

Now the scars on my heart
run to deep to forget.
I still have the old roses
from the first time that we met.

And I don't know why I told you
that I’m good at letting go.
Because as I look at these dead flowers,
I pray for them to grow.

Don’t cry because they told you
that their love has slipped away.
Because when I was young, I knew a boy
who watched the sun rise everyday.

So one morning, I sat out with him,
I sat silently in awe.
But because he had seen so many rise
6 a.m. was all he saw.
          
He was blind to the beauty of the sun,
because he started taking it for granted.
But as I watched, I couldn’t speak
and I found myself enchanted.

We all deserve the love of someone
who will watch us rise time & time again.
Someone who will never see us
as just another 6 a.m.

She threw herself into heartbreak
like a moth drawn to a flame.
Then learned to heal the burns she had
& just jumped in again.

He became inflamed in sorrow,
but she said it kept her warm.
So he kept the flames of sadness lit,
even though it caused him harm.

In summer, they'd only wonder
why charred flowers wouldn't grow.
In winter, they'd only simmer
as they mistook the ash for snow.

Everyone tried to tell them,
but they never seemed to learn.
So how do you save two people
who are convinced they want to burn?