Pink Carnations
Pink carnations remind me of my father
This heart-shaped box is filled with memories
Painful memories which eat at my conscience
But to burn this box is to burn my past
The past that makes me...me.
Tears well up in my eyes when I remember years ago
I often wonder why I ever let you go
A brainless act of weakness
Fear of attachment, of passion for you
There's no escaping
Thoughts of you emigrate from the hidden drawers of my mind
And I understand how it feels to lose something you love.
(February 15, 1998)
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