There will be no trace
of me, here
after I have left
The colours of my paintings on the walls
are not stains
the laughter of the memories
won’t stay forever
and everything that ever made this
space mine
is transportable
I knew enough when I came here
to plan it this way
So you’re standing at the door
smiling for the hope of a future
but I
can feel the suitcase handle in my fingers
and I don’t remember myself
anymore
Does that make me
a bad person?
If I have shuttered my mind
and heart and soul,
folded my memories away into dusty boxes
and stacked them in the back
of the attic, is that
weakness?
All I know is
you have never left
like how I have left
and you can’t understand —
impermanence flows through
my veins as the very blood of my only hope
for survival
So I will smile and wave
at you in the doorway
and gather up my belongings
to carry myself away in
I can never return
because
nothing is ever the same again
