i know you think you are forgettable.
that you are what is left after all else is gone.

you are the moment that held on
for a little too long
before everything finally concluded.

you are the wound
that never mended
but perhaps,
during those times,
you healed just enough
to stop the bleeding
and stop the pain.

you are the fall
that never bloomed,
and never rose again.
the petals that never grew.

you are the girl
who loved,
and eventually lost.

the girl who did not matter enough
for her to remember your name.

maybe you are the same
as the dust motes in the dying light
with their fragile flight,
hopeless,
as they disappear.

you never quite belonged to where you are now.
so you feel, the place never reaches for you.

there is nothing this place,
and maybe she as well,
wants to keep from you,
and you are not permanent enough to be asked to stay.

not even your words can fight to be permanent,
and she will forget all the letters you've written.

but you've done what you can do,
and you've done it all too well.
you've made your own path,
even in a place overgrown.
you’ve changed the
morning and the
mountains for her.

you've done what you can do,
and you've done it all too well.
i'm sorry,
i'm sorry.