Can people of your present become memories,

Become apparitions you look through without seeing,

Become reminiscences of tomorrows you want to say good-by to?

You started kissing me good-by when we crossed paths for the first time that day,

And signing your name without sending your love,

You speak about us in the past tense,

You forgot we made plans to fall in love again tomorrow.

Like smiling faces in postcards,

I am a frozen figment

Whose devotion you keep as a memento

Of a version of yourself you liked

But would never want to be again,

I sit under a pile of love poems that you forgot you used to recite to me,

Write for me,

Write of me,

I am the muse that no longer gives you inspiration,

A postcard never beautiful enough to be the real thing,

A trip pleasant enough to take pictures of,

Sign off and show to friends,

But nothing worth keeping in your trunk of treasures.

Markings from our months together litter my body like stamps,

Each one its own story,

But the mailman is taking too long to deliver me back into your arms,

And you cannot keep waiting for me,

When your life keeps moving forward without you,

So I stay a memory, never carried into that future.

But I hope that you will write to me.

Tell me about the places you have seen,

The people that you have fallen in love with.

Send me postcards you no longer have any use for,

Let me read their stories,

And make a collage of the faces,

To find the pattern that I fall so perfectly into.

I hope your next adventures will not sit under the years of people

That you have fallen out of love with.

I hope you will write to me,

Sign it dear friend,

Because though you may have forgotten,

I will know that I was a once in a life time.