You don’t love me and I sense it in your words
they stick to each syllable like I, to you.
My every sentence is soaked with desperation
As I attempt to hook you back,
But you remain cold, rigid.
I can’t melt you with my desires.
You need to let me go if you don’t want me,
Remember that, should you forget.
I am not a possession but if I was
I’d be your favourite shirt grasping to your skin
or the chapter of that book that you can’t help but reread.
Are you keeping me with hope for the future?
Or nostalgia for the past?
– Molly Johnston