holding my breath until the ribs remember how to break, trying to wear the ruin like a coat that finally fits, planting flowers in a cemetery I swore was empty, keeping the door unlocked for a ghost that never left.
I don’t think I’ll ever fully recover from what love did to me. It changed the way I trust, the way I attach, the way I hope. I may love again someday but I know I’ll always carry a little fear from the love that broke me.
Memory recedes with time and loses everything but the feeling. It loses shape, title, image.. with nothing, the feeling looks for a new image to attach itself to. It can reinvent itself from its source or be suddenly awakened in the form of its origin, but it can’t abandon itself