For memories that have feet

I like you

but in a very unhealthy way.

I think of you

still think of you

–and this is how I learned that memories

have feet and

walk miles, too.

Yet, I

don’t wish to let you know;

it would’ve been enough to let you feel.. but how?

When our eyes meet,

mine shies away.

When we’re this close, I feel this much tension

building up inside,

colliding, disturbing — and I,

I will spill

If I can’t keep it, I

will spill and say something,

call you in a name

so soft –there

won’t be any mistaking what it meant,

what you meant.

I like you

but in a very unhealthy way.

Your presence is an obsession.

Your voice reverberating within the halls of my being.

Like patterns of random faces

that etched their way around every

surface, you

have conquered my sight, you

are everywhere.

Without being intrusive, you

always came, always

as a welcomed guest.

But unlike guests who

just leave as they please, you


Your voice says you’re on the other side

of the wall, your steps

meant you’ve reached that

open door


you stay.

And take full


at my address,

at my head,

at that pumping flesh

and fist of a heart.



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