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soon i will throw out the last thing i keep around that reminds me of you––

such a small thing––

a pen.

scratched on the sides, worn from use, running out of ink.

traced out lines in my Bible, careful note-taking, 

kept my hand steady.

soon i will throw away the last thing that reminds me of you.

it may not even be the exact same one you bought me

as i bought another pack of the same pens sometime after

regardless it's almost gone now

like you

the lines in (of) my memory faded.

i have to press down on the paper to get your pen to write for me.

a blade almost cutting the paper

like the lines you made on my heart

when you left.

and you left so many times. so many times.

but soon i will throw away the last thing that reminds me of you

and maybe, maybe, you'll leave with it.

just a pen. 


--9.28.20

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