I will always remember,
As long as my mind is well,
To save things soft and tender,
Joyful stories I can tell.

I will learn to leave behind,
Unpleasantries to forget,
To delete them from my mind,
Tales of sadness and regret.

to think there’s a reality
in which we never parted,
to think of our naivety
saying we’d keep in contact,

it hurts to think of what might be
if i’d only stopped to ask
if you’d care, years later, about me;
but enough dwelling on the past.

My hands still remember the quiet aching of these wounds — too deep and wide for stitches and shaky hands. And so, I never learned to unpack my grief. It still is in a suitcase with December dusks and dreary summers — shut in secret library walls. I never learned to unpack my grief because I'm terrified that when I do, it'll be way too messy to place it back where it belongs.


Some things, we never tell ourselves out loud.