All Works · Poetry

Remnants

Are you acting like her to taunt me?

Reminding me to go to bed,

To eat,

Take my feet off the table,

Pick up my plate,

Make the bed,

And take my meds.

Because, I am always meaning to do those things.

I have always done them,

During and after her,

And definitely before you.

Do you take pleasure in knowing each time you remind me to do these small tasks you remind me of her?

Take pleasure in the fact that I wince inside with each reminder. A piece of her flashes in you and too quickly I lose her all over again when I realize it’s just you – small bouts of grief strung along through the day.

But how would you know what you doing to me?

I have never told you about her. Perhaps I like that you remind me of her, despite how often I clench my jaw or huff in exasperation.

I can’t help being so irritable and bitter, I know it’s chipping away at your resolve and you will tire of it, and soon after tire of me.

I wouldn’t know what to do if that happened, because never have I felt as if I’m moving on while keeping her memory, and remnants of her alive with me.

7 thoughts on “Remnants

    1. Thank you, Jesse. It’s a funny thing. Sometimes we blame people or get angry at people for things they themselves aren’t aware they are doing. We don’t tell them, although we could. It’s like we revel in the toxicity. I guess that line is when we realize that we are to an extent accountable for the unpleasantness.
      It’s open to interpretation.

      Like

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