“dwelling”

i find myself visiting the past more and more

yet my memory fails me each time

bitter and sweet and everything in between 

nothing is tangible anymore and i hate it

as soon as the past happens i lose it

i can never truly return to it

i know that i should sit in the present and dwell here

but i’ve never been too comfortable in my own head

and i’ve never been too comfortable to leave anything behind either

i sit for hours and hours inside each memory i own

maybe i’ll see you there

bright eyed and boisterous 

i can only see you in these moments

it isn't quite the same but i make do

so i sit and try to remember 

even if the memory is no longer in its original colour or shape

if it's the closest i get to seeing you again

then i will sit there cross-legged over and over until i can remember it fully