an ode to the hopeless, these are for you

never meant by american football

fingertips trace old polaroids and dusty cassette tapes,
records with no player to dance around,
CD's with nothing to spin upon.

the memories that fade
coincide with my hair
that falls out.

the lonely tree on the way to my grandparents
is the same as stuffed animals still on shelves,
missing out on a child's love.

it's all correlated, you see?

you were my favorite,
and you knew that.

so now all that's left is 386.
three hundred and eighty six photos.

i think i'll just delete them all,
it's fitting.

but everyone loves you right?
right?