Keeper

I fill up my life with things that are forgotten.

I try so hard to forget.

And yet, the dreams keep coming.

The dreams where you're my knight.

The dreams where you walk up to me,

and my heart beat slows,

my mind clears,

and I rest.

There was so much comfort there.

I know your one dimple.

I know it better that the lines of my own hand.

I know the reassurance the sight of it brought me.

Once upon a time.

It's been so long, and yet,

Here I am--suddenly and fully dreaming of you.

Three hundred and ninety days later.

Since the last time I saw your face.

I remember it well,

the pain in that face.

And the dreams!

Oh! The dreams!

So real they trick me into believing no time has passed at all,

and we're happy.

God, how we're happy.

My memory lies so much.

I truly thought I was done.

I know now I can't be, not really.

I hold on far too tightly to ever be done.

I am the keeper of things that should be forgotten.

Still

And so she has and will continue to wish to be anything but what she is– a lonely sad little girl, hoping that someone will turn her into what she always wishes she could be and would be and wants to be…all of those things being somewhat the opposite of what she is today. Right now, at this very moment. She does, in reality, constantly make excuses, and wants. She wants everything, she wants and wants and wants, and needs and wishes. Is it true that everything she could ever want is right in front of her, waiting for her to reach out and take it. Maybe, but nothing is really ever that easy, especially for sad, scared little indecisive girls. Feeling that nothing about her is wanted, nothing about her needed. Just nothing. She is nothing. Empty.