My body is a graveyard of forgotten souls.

I hold funerals and memorials every year for each one.

On the anniversary of our death,

I remember you,

standing at the end of the bridge,

looking down

down at the river.

You asked me,

              would you jump in for me if I fell?

Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to swim in water,

or in love.

This graveyard holds my bones.

They hold the stories of each forgotten memory.

My spine,

my right hip,

my right shoulder.

I’m convinced that you are still

a part of me


I wonder if I am still a part of you.


Do your bones ache because of me?

Do you hold funerals,


vigils, every year for me?


I hope you light a candle for me at my casket,

one for each time I ever crossed your mind.


I hope you set the world on fire

with the thought of me.


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