History forgotten; identity remembered

I wish you could remember me,

As I’ve forgotten me,

Into the fragmented but workable construct,

I call my identity.

 

If only I could contextualize,

And re-frame all my mistakes,

What a Saint I’d be.

But time has plotted against me,

And insisted on persistence,

In ignorance of my request.

You dissipated like the morning dew:

An unspoiled dream,

Gone before I knew it was waiting.

You didn’t leave a note,

Not that you’d need to,

Remind me where I had lost you.

I want to reach out to your ghost,

Repeatedly futile though it may be,

To pull you close.

But you won’t ever be there,

Since I wasn’t even there,

When you needed me.

 

I hope you’ve forgotten me,

As I’ve forgiven me,

In the patchwork framework,

I call my history.

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