Scattered

I leave parts of myself wherever I go.

Scattered books, papers, thoughts, scattered ideas

that I held.

Maybe I don’t want you to forget about me,

or maybe

I don’t want to forget those things myself.

There’s so much of me inside those things;

within you.

Those parts of me remind who I am

and I could hardly reassemble it all,

I could never see all of myself.

You keep something of me with you,

showing it back when we meet.

I could never see all of myself,

yet stumbling on something

I left in your house,

I see that’s what I was.

February 24