lukewarm

waning/leftovers

there will come a point 

in the future

when i am past tense

but that is not what scares me

rather, i am scared that 

your memory of me

will be like an impressionist painting

seemingly solid from afar

but up close? 

just millions of brush strokes

straining

working overtime

trying to hold together 

your waning memory of me 

and maybe i'm scared that

it won't take you long

before you forget 

how my fingertips smelt like cigarettes

or how i hated it when

people put milk in the bowl before cereal

but maybe

but maybe what i'm scared 

is that you'll remember

all of it

and that you'll be helpless

with nothing to be done

that you'll have to feel the way that i did

when you left

with my hands overflowing with

everything that i had to 

say and do and give and show

and all the love i had for you, ending up as

leftovers