Memoirs Of A Teenage Heart

Allow me to make lucid this tangle of truths...

Allow me to make lucid this tangle of truths, for I fear it cannot last

One day,

you are going to forget me

because all good things

must come to an end.

You won’t remember the way

I whispered your name

when the stars fell from the sky above,

or the way I held my breath

whenever you said mine.

My eyes will be just another

insipid shade of green,

my hair a pale reflection

of burnt august sunlight.

These hands will be muscle

and skin and bone,

and not the anchor that bound you

to a heartbeat, a hope, a prayer.

And one day,

this poem will become

twenty six letters

that met their end.