the scars of leaving take longer to heal than the scars of stayingMature

I can’t help that I still think of you
         now and then  sometimes  often.

Your memory is the shore and my restless heart
         is the tide, crashing against you and stealing
         tiny pieces of you away with it.

This fractured reality flickers in,
                                                   flickers out.

I read somewhere that fingerprints can still be lifted
         from wet things; I tossed my heart into the river
         the night you left me: are those traces of you still there?

I think you are in all of my dreams, stitched in around the edges.

There were a thousand reasons you should have stayed
         but it only took one to make you leave.  All you left me 
         were a weak heart and watered-down blood.

The End

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