the beekeeper.

forget iv.

just like i said,
i will leave your room untouched and i will never burn your things.
you're not renting out this room in my head,
you bought it for yourself,
and for some terrible reason you have decided to root there until i die.

today i spoke to you,
first words among many years yet you still treated me the same
like you were the evelyn to my evelyn,
fused together by bone and by flesh.

you haven't changed.
over the six years that i've known you,
the five years that i've loved you,
and the three years that we haven't spoken,
you still sound the same.
the same boy,
the same man,
the same idiot who decided it was alright to make himself important to me.

for a while i thought you were a cavity in my tooth.
you were made by saccharine songs and sleepy vows,
and i thought in time you could be filled,
capped,
covered by something else so i wouldn't feel that aching pain in my mouth.
i would never have to think of you again because i would know there'd be something there to keep you out of my mind,
off of my worry list.
out of sight out of mind.

but you aren't a cavity,
even if you did create some in my stomach.
you are a condition;
something i'll have to live with until i die.
something i'll learn to deal with in time,
but something no amount of medicine
(now matter how much i take to blur the lines)
can ever fix.

no, sir, you are not a cavity at all.
you, ryan, are a memory.
a long, never lost, never forgotten memory,
and though i will spit hate and fire and agonizing accusations
i could never burn you.
i could never pack your things and put them into the storage garage i claimed i rented.

i could never burn you.
i could never forget you.
i could never
could
never

forget.