Time moves me and I forget,
until I fall on things you left.
I tried hiding each around
to make them hard to narrow down.
But spot a bottle you helped dry,
it’s almost sad I didn’t cry.
I should just break it and be free
from that cold amber memory.
Might I regret that, to forget?
And glue back each jagged fragment?
While true I’m happy I’ve moved on,
I still don’t wish your traces gone.
They remind me of who I was,
and the love I gave freely once.