I think what scares me the most is being forgotten.

But forgotten by her.

If she were to one day wake up and not recognize me,

I don't know if I would be able to go on.

Distant siren, singing her song.

Gentle lover,

what did I do wrong?

Silent muse,

touched and misused.

Gone,

forever girl.

Once my world.

Cascading somewhere

between the
depths of
reality,

and the skin
beneath your
breast.

Old memories lay dormant
in the spaces
between
my ribs.

What do you do when you miss someone who doesn't want to see you.

Who doesn't want to talk to you.

Who probably never thinks of you.

What do you do when you dream about them,
night after night,
and as a result,

can't stop thinking about them.

How's she's doing?

"It doesn't matter."

Can't stop thinking about
memories.

about the

could be's.
would be's,
should be's.

"She doesn't care."

And yet I still feel a sadness in my chest.

"You miss her."

I miss her.

"You just wish you could see her."

I just want to see her.

"Just once."

I miss her.

Is this the part about heartbreak they don't tell you about?

How sometimes, you actually don't get over it? Ever?

"You would have gotten over it, but you didn't get proper closure."

But it hurts.

"It hurts."

Why does it hurt?

"She was your friend, but you loved her. But she was your friend."

I think it will always hurt, just a little.

"That's okay."

But the dreams,

"They will pass."

But the feeling,

"It wont last."

It's the one that got away.

"She's the one that got away."

Has the air ever tasted like memories to you?

I see you everywhere.

In my dreams, mostly. So stop thinking about me. Please.

I mean they say if you dream of someone, it means they are thinking about you.

Apparently she does this sometimes.

Because sometimes I see her.

Sometimes she tells me she loves me.

Sometimes she is absent.

I don't think I will ever get over H* fully.

But  I keep trying.

I think I see her everywhere.

I wish I could see her just once.

I used to work at Zellers.

Back when that was a thing.

I think I worked there for three years.

And as bitter as I am about not making any real friends there, or not getting invited to Zellers parties because I was the only one who lived across town...

There is one memory that stays with me.

It was a mother and a child.

The mother was always stressed, but the child was so happy. Glowing.

They loved dolls and dresses, and was the cutest and most polite child I met there.

One day, when the mother was checking out, buying some dolls for her child, I looked at them and then at her and said,

"They are so cute."

And she immediately teared up.  She was so overwhelmed that someone might look at a child who is gender non conforming and be okay with it.

She thanked me profusely.

I never saw them again but I hope they are both doing well.

Excuse me while I take a moment to,

to get back into what I used to want to do.

I'm trying to push back the block that is writers block.

And I know this poem *****.

And the reason I'm writing it is to keep myself writing.

These are all just words on a page, a page I used to get no audience out of.

I used to write to myself in secret.

But now that things are getting slightly more public,

I feel like I can't be as open and honest as I once was.

I don't know.

I just want to keep writing.

And writing.

That's all I want to do.

I Still have flashbacks to all of the boomers who told us we would never succeed.

That we would quit.

That we would be a starving artist.

And I mean,

they were right and wrong all at once.

We are all still writing Mr. P.

Or whatever your name was...

Banana Ninja man.