Conversion of Ruins
You'll always be there, In the corners of pictures I've had to crop your hand, Your foot, Sometimes it's your shoulder. Those bits of you mock me, They subtly mark your presence in all of my best memories. You're that layer of paint beneath the surface, A shade beneath it all, That inescapable conversation with those who I haven't seen since; "Wasn't this wall green?" "Yes, it was but we painted it orange last year, see, this color brightens up the whole room" Can someone please tell me what the equivalent of turpentine is for one's heart? And how do I keep finding pictures of you, on my phone? How do you keep hiding in every folder as if to say; "You can fuss all you want, but you can never completely be rid of me" How annoying, You repeatedly forgot about me yet I'm the one who has to rethink her future. The inconvenience. But in all honesty, ...