I will try to talk to you
Not to see you again or make you love me again
But just to make sure what we had actually did exist
"a man is himself and his surroundings"
or so I have heard it said
So you have been more than history,
You have been the hands that molded the clay
Like the play dough at a kinder garden,
it is not always the best, the most mold-able, the freshest,
but it will keep your touch, always
The eastern philosophy teaches a way to let go of past love
I don't want that, I feel it would unmake me
I would rather feel that connection, knowing its externality
And live with it. For as a book is written, I consider it a sin to edit it postmortem
And I know I am not dead, but our opportunity is
And so I will remember, cherish, and let go
Knowing that I'll never fully tell you no.
