I will, someday, be the first in line to the opening of your estate sale.
I will buy all of your furniture to keep this part of you alive.
We keep remnants and pieces, as we scatter memories like your charred remains across a place you once knew.
I want to love the carousel figurine
you forgot you once owned and sing the sweet melodies of the music box you once fell asleep too each night.
For the depth of something once loved and now lost, is impenetrable to pain.
As all things are made, and all things are to be loved and lost or forgotten.
I want to love all the things once loved by others.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
I will, someday, be the first in line to the opening of your estate sale.
I will buy all of your furniture to keep this part of you alive.
We keep remnants and pieces, as we scatter memories like your charred remains across a place you once knew.
I want to love the carousel figurine
you forgot you once owned and sing the sweet melodies of the music box you once fell asleep too each night.
For the depth of something once loved and now lost, is impenetrable to pain.
As all things are made, and all things are to be loved and lost or forgotten.
I want to love all the things once loved by others.
Titled by my poetry professor.
