The muddy streets
your boot imprints
the letters you signed
with red handprints
a chest full of your things
beside my bed, just being
whatever it’s supposed to be
as you left them here
as I forgot to throw out
so lies a dance unfinished
a song on your lips
i remember things that never
would be mine
I forgot to love
I forgot to let go
I forgot to be
just what was meant to be
a stab to the heart
a story in the winds.
A heathen poet 