(to my Poptarts—two years later)
I will love you long after I wear holes into all of my plaid shirts, long after I make every bleach-stained section of fabric into a vest and “Some Nights” plays a hole in my heart where I tried that one time to bleach an image of your dress into it—I will love you
long after I stop seeing you in the shadows of my eyelids as I go to sleep,
long after my knees stop finding you in the carpet,
long after the shadows on my knees and the colors in my carpet change, shrink,
dissolve into a memory—
I will love you
long after my memory dissolves, long after your memory of me is reduced to a shallow collection of words like “reduce” and “dissolve,”
long after the desolation and dissolution of the English language in my brain—
when the only words I know how to say form themselves into a shadowed pattern of plaid upon the blanket covering my knees,
you will still own these elbows,
you will still be in the rhythm of this heartbeat.
I will love you when you don’t remember to miss me,
when I miss you more than I ever remember,
when missing you is all I remember how to do,
when I miss the days we were missing each other because they’re all I remember of us.
I will love you when I do not remember you.
You will be in the space between every wrinkle,
the pause between each heartbeat.