I carry parts of you with me. I take them without knowing why or how. And often during the day I find myself nibbling on the edge of my lip. Or WRITING IN ALL CAPS LIKE YOU DO ON YOUR NOTES TO ME. Often I see it in the way I mispronounce silly things like treadmill into treadMEAL I carry your small quirks with me. Locked inside, and when I stumble on the side walk I often think of that awful Christmas gift I got you. It was a pair of shoes that were two sizes too big. And you stumbled and tripped all day, but you powered through and you wore a plastered on smile. When I’m alone and upset I think of your arms around me anaconda like, and the comfortable silence that comes feel with it. And when I hear you jumbling in the kitchen, I think of the time you tried to make pancakes one Sunday morning and you burned them. And I laughed and tried to help make new ones. Although I didn’t burn them I forgot baking powder nonetheless they were awful and we went to the diner down the road. And every time I draw someone I end up making their features distinctly like yours. Because you are engraved in my mind. Your quirks and memories. You attack me like a strongly scented perfume even when the smell is gone I feel a strong headache in the middle of my forehead. (Not that you give me headaches, I just feel your presence once you are gone) my longing for you and my never ending craving for you sits there like a heavy winter snow. No amount of snow will get it to melt and every morning you swear it’s gotten deeper. And without warning or reason my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach when I hear something about you. It could be the mumble of your name, or full conversations I’m not a part of. But that’s what you do to me. you make my knees weak you words carve canyons in my brain so they echo you give me hope when I’m upset and I could never write anything long enough to do the justice. You give me hope when you run your hands in through my hair and leave traces on my skin of your love. If it be the glide of your finger on my thumb, or the twirl of my ponytail ‘round your hand. And if I should ever have to venture alone. The light is close and I am scared, but I do not have your hand to latch onto. Or your body as my crutch to keep me moving. I will carry your parts with me that I take without knowing why or how.
