I remember your eyes, but I don’t remember the color.
The snow on the ground makes me forget about summer.
I remember the sinking feeling, deep in the pit of my stomach.
I remember the sound of glass breaking, I don’t remember what caused it.
When I was a little girl I colored so many pictures,
I can’t remember what of, I probably should’ve kept them.
But the things that you keep don’t matter as much,
we forget what’s in front of us trying to remember what we lost.

there is a postcard lying in the middle of my floor
covered in her writing
telling me that I am worth it
telling me that she loves me
it looks so perfect just lying there
in the center of my carpet
i cant bring myself to move it or touch it
my mom doesn't try to pick it up
because even she sees how rightful its placement is
right and perfect
and truly in love