I wish there was something about me that was addictive. Something that made me hard to forget or hard to move on from. I hate it when people find it easy to dismiss me for someone else in days. It really takes no effort at all to push me out of the picture when I’m just a side factor.
I have never put our names in any of these poems.
None of these love letters are addressed to you,
none of them carry my signature.
I can’t tell if I’m hoping to forget or to remember.
When I stumble across these notebooks gathering dust in a box,
will I struggle to recall who the muse was?
Or will your smile still be pressed between every page?
I will not put your name in this poem.
I will leave it up to fate,
hand it over to the stars.
I will find this poem someday,
I’ll remember writing this.
I’ll remember loving you.
To You (via poppyflowerpoetry)
Sylvia Plath (via kushandwizdom)