Thursday, February 7, 2013


In the playground
our innocent beginnings
frozen in a frame of

In the mailbox
your little heart
scrawled all over a sheet of
notebook paper.

In my mind
replaying the days
that were
but now are not.

Frozen in a frame of white.
You still dwell
among my coins
my ID cards
my receipts
my odds and ends

and still I cannot throw you away

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