The Paper Heart

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Still the same

I found you today.

Tucked neatly in a book of literature beneath a heap of keepsakes.

You see, I was cleaning out clutter. A drawer full of what I thought trash was actually filled with treasure.

There you were.

The you I put away.

Staring at me intently from a corner of the past.

It is I who placed you there.

In that bottom drawer. Close to my bedside. When my memory doesn’t serve me correctly, there you will remain.

Lines of truth written from the hands I once held. Scripted I love you’s. Folded notes signed with your name. A typewriter series of florist paper.

Books. Music. Cards. Letters.

I’ve read them over today. It brought back every detail I tried so hard to forget.

The way you looked at me.

The way we touched.

The passion.

The same soul shared in the stillness of night.

It was real wasn’t it.

I told myself I had forgotten about these sweet sentiments. Convinced myself that’s not who we are now.

Fragments of people we used to know bound up in dust and ribbon. Who am I fooling. We are still the same aren’t we.

We are still those simple creatures who crossed unconventional paths. We are still the ones who wonder about what might have been yet move on through the day.

We are the ones who try to love others but struggle at times. The silence between bodies we know well. When the only flame that burns in the night is for each other.

Out of sight yet not out of mind.

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