Spinning Memories
You are another memory that needs to go.
An assembly of laughs and smiles
I auction off to the silence
who craves a goodnight story.
I tell them that your voice was the sound of a doorbell,
reminding me of home.
Your photos always piled up on my phone,
like a Pinterest mood board describing my day.
If I could, I’d exchange my eyes for cameras
and take snapshots of everything
you told me was precious.
I’d frame the portraits and landscapes,
hanging them in the horizon
so they can sit beside these clouds.
I’d call that claustrophobic canvas:
a gallery of my own thoughts
just trying to find where they belong.
I’d tell you the name of each piece
and turn your sentences of wonder
into the lines that transformed them into constellations.
That became my definition of “love”.
Some days I traded my ears for headphones
and they played the things you always said to me on loop
just so I could do my best to stay optimistic for the day.
Sometimes I asked the silence on the bus to mimic your laugh
to not feel so lonely and in some ways
I looked for carnations wherever I went
just so I could imagine you being beside me again one more time.
Now I remember your laugh,
then compare it to the sound of rubber burning into concrete.
I’ll crease and fold your freckles into a key
that opens a flashback of horrors.
I’ll make these lips think about kissing you
synonymously as smoking.
I’ll turn your photos into water
and remind myself of the feeling of drowning
and then eventually I’ll learn how to start swimming
instead of endlessly floating . . .
The hardest part is handling the truth
that I don’t have the ability to pull out
the same smile I reserved for you when we were together.
I don’t have the same laugh
that you recorded on your phone
and used as an alarm clock the very next day.
I don’t have the same sense of confidence
to wake up in the morning,
so I let my blankets bury me ‘til midnight.
I’ve convinced myself that my own arms
are the only sweater this body deserves to be wrapped in.
I tell the piercing stillness of the night
the moments we shared and hope it turns into a prayer
to be embedded within the ocean,
to stay uncovered and untouched
and to never be bothered.
But to be honest,
It’s been hard to move on
when these memories I try to spin
decide to gamble the same game with me.
They push me into different directions
I never knew existed until now.
I tried using a GPS to get to my destination,
but to be honest half the time
I didn’t know where I’m going,
so I got lost.
I carried my corpse through countless paths
that were just cul-de-sacs and detours.
I left my limbs on layover flights
trying to follow my own footsteps.
I hung my head over the highway
hoping to hear the howls of my house.
I finally found my way home,
rang the doorbell and wondered
why it didn’t sound so familiar
and now I remember how this all started because of how:
I miss you.