My identity is secret
To almost everyone, but you.
Secure in a box
Of rotting wood
With thorns
growing sharp and new.
This tiny box you know where to find
Possesses the tender me.
The me that cleaves to solitude
And hardly desires to be released.
I remember the day you let me out.
I can almost taste the dewy air,
Hearing the stream whisper shhh...
So I could listen to you stare.
You stared at me
As if I was a precious thing,
A thing as gentle as moist grass.
I felt breathtaking,but felt swell
Comfortable in my own skin.
Enthralled by you, my companion.
My feelings stirring deep within.
As the years passed,
My thorns grew thicker,
The hand of my companion
No longer within reach.
But I cling to the words
You spoke to me once
Before you left me
For an infinity of months.
"I wish I could take the parts of you I adore
And press them like soft flowers
Between the tattered pages
Of our life's yearbook.
Not the one we get in school,
But the one we made
On our own
In our hearts
On that windy day."
I can feel those words.
They're tangible to me.
Rough like tree bark
On my skin.
Everyday your words embrace me,
Coaxing my identity out
To catch a glimpse of sunlight
So it won't begin to doubt.
I will always remember
The day you were mine.
"My memory loves you.
It asks about you all the time."
PICTURES ARE PROPERTY OF ALEX CURRIE!!
The cover picture and pic at the top are all property of the photographer Alex Currie (who is a genius btw you should check his instagram I believe its @Alex.currie)
XxxxGabby
