The last day I spent with you is the ink that's splashing around in my mind, trying to make its way to parchment, though it'd much rather be the ink tattooed across your chest. The easiest confirmation of our love is the infinite complexity of each simple moment we shared. There is a memory of you burning through the walls of my mind, and the longer the fire burns, the more susceptible I am to its heat. As we walked hand in hand approaching our favorite spot by the lake, you stopped to observe a metal pole sticking up from the concrete in the ground. You were always intrigued by things I never seemed to notice. You were intrigued by the hopelessness that faded from my eyes as I looked at you, the way my hands always found themselves wrapped around your waist, and the way my eyes watered every time you said goodbye; but I never stopped to notice these apparent qualities until you spelled them out for me. I watched as you begun to push on this appendage projecting from the concrete ground, testing your strength. You pushed and pulled, excitement pumping through your veins as you began to realize how easy it was for you to pry something out of the ground. Eventually you grew bored, lost interest, and left the pole slanted, nearly parallel to the earth: not completely yanked, but pushed and pulled, stuck in a writhing position.  Since I've had the time to replay this image like the song I have on constant repeat, I realized that it spelled out exactly what you've done to my heart. My heart like this pole stuck in the ground.