by Lindsay Horvath

Created on: April 08, 2009

When I think back to myself

Sitting in a dim room, surrounded by

You, everything about you

Listening to Neil Young and wishing I were free like you,

I think:

I want to take my own hand, and promise myself

It's going to be okay

Little scraps of paper, notes from the bathroom mirror,

A sweater,

A polaroid,

Just things. Someday,

This shoebox full of lovely things all touched by you

Will be nothing more

Then a box shoved in the closet, full of teenage whims and

Pretend lust,

A fantasy

I'll no longer adore.

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