They tell me to stop letting you melt into
my poetry.
They say I should
stop letting you sit on my skin.
I wish I could.
But I keep running into
my heart and her shaking hands
that hold our polaroids.
Oh, to ignore her.
But I don't.
I sit and I reminisce and
I fall back into the dream of you.
It's hard to climb out because you loved me so well there.
So I climb and I fall, over and over.
Can someone tell me if I've crashed yet?
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