On: the photos covering the walls of my apartment, and the past loves that live just outside the frame.

Just because

they were there

doesn't mean

I wasn't there, too.

Does not make my

time in that place

less valid,

or significant.

Not the swamp,

or the ocean,

or the forest.

I was there.

I can pluck you out

of the memory like

a little kid perfecting

the art of Operation.

Shakily, without

warning it completely fails,

I have to start over;

the shock hits different

as an adult.

The lessons are

more nuanced.

Harder

to catch

and hold on

to, because the pain is

sometimes all we have.

..

But I urge You,

remember: Their

existence does not make

Yours, less;

Your time,

less; Your

words, less.

It simply

insists You

choke on them.

But if You remember

to chew, and,

remember Your

training–this is what

You trained so hard for–

You can

..

zzzz

..

Pluck someone

out of a memory,

just like that.

No shock to the system.

–

Not to say,

You will never see them

standing just out of

frame again–

just to say,

Your existence there

is the same

as now:

Inside Yourself,

not within them.

Not the same as now:

You Have Learned.

Think of all You

know now, all that

the You in that picture

didn't know: new memories

pluck old ones,

You remember it as

a lesson. You smile fondly

gazing upon the swamp

and

the ocean,

and

the forest.