I wish there was a collection of words I could say to you. A phrase to stop the clock from ticking in the dark. To bring back the lights if just for a moment. Cast away the darkness so that I may see your face, one more time. There are so many nameless poems still trapped inside my head. Your name, tightly wrapped around every one. Woven through the fabric of language itself as if all I know how to speak is you. But they will never be spoken. They will never be released from my skull. They cannot be. They know the consequences all too well as they know the price to be paid. So I garden. I sift through the fields of my memory. Picking the weeds that used to be my love for you. Tossing them to the wind like dandelions. Exactly how you taught me. Making forgetting me seem all too easy. Like forgetting me was an art you had been practicing since you learned how to talk. I am still just a student. I may never learn all that I have forgotten. I may never forgive what you’ve forgotten. This is not the end I wanted, but here we are. Another nameless poem that once had a name. Perhaps it was your name, but maybe it wasn’t. Did you erase my name from your worn out love poems? Or did someone teach you a new one? My name does not bow to erasers nor does it surrender to being covered over. My name means “a gift” so it’s not my fault that you were ungrateful. My mother granted me this gall the day I opened my eyes. So when my name shines through the paint. When I become all the writings on the wall. When the other names crash down to reveal mine. Remember that you brought this on yourself. When you miss me. Miss the taste of my name on your lips. Remember, that you are a nameless poem in my mind. And you made it that way.
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