Take my heart and pin it up in your collection with all the others
Take my secrets and bottle them up to place on your shelf
Take my kisses and dissect each one until you have someone else's to pull apart
Take my "I love you's" and label them by the meaning behind each one
And when you're done, will I disappear from your memory?
Will I blend in with every past love, every past girl, every past ****?
Just another jar in your closet to look at once or twice a year.
I'll be gathering dust in your mind while you're staging an orchestra in mine.
But that's how love works, isn't it?
It doesn't split down the middle, it splits in shards and you're left gathering pieces like a child under a piñata. And whoever ends up with more candy ends up with more pain.
So I sit here mourning a boy who let me go five minutes after I became "past" to him.
Gathering dust.