crumbs and bits of remnants you lie in the form of repackaged jokes i pass off as my own and songs i turn up slightly under the streaked summer sky bring me back to car rides with you from winters ago.
our memories, neatly packaged in a shoebox in the back of my closet, stare back at me. as time passes, its stare softens into a loving gaze or even maybe a smile
the intersection between your house and mine that made my stomach curl every time i passed it is just another turn now and the place that was our place on Sundays at 3pm is now my place on Wednesdays at 8pm. maybe that place will remain as "my place" or it it will become "our place" once again, just with someone else. for now i am satisfied with the bits and crumbs of you that are a part of me. maybe one day they will become someone else's crumbs