"

My mind,
is not some machine,
to go back in time,
to erase your memory.

My hands,
are not some tools,
for you to use,
and for you to leave,
hanging,
waiting for your warmth,
craving for your touch.

My eyes,
are not toys,
for you to play around with,
and name,
they’re not your favorite things in the world,
they’re not a temporary distraction either.

My first love,
was you,
and like everything new,
I wanted it to last,
and I wrote down your name,
at least thirty two times down,
to assure myself,
this wouldn’t hurt,
but look where we are now,
here I am penning down my thoughts,
about you,
and how things were,
as if your first love was easy to forget,
who ever said that,
my father once told me,
the girl he loved when he was seven,
still never left his dreams,
he told me,
you will find someone new,
and you will love them,
till time ran out,
but you wouldn’t forgot,
your first love,
neither,
would you forget their touch,
nor their painful absence,
and I might be young,
and years to come,
I might find someone new,
but forgetting you,
would still be one of the tasks,
I would clumsily right on the grocery list,
even when I am sixty-two.

”