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,
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.