I keep my first love in a tin box,
On the top shelf of my closet,
Where I need to stand on the tips of my toes,
And nudge with the tips of my fingers,
To bring it down, back down.
Sometimes it comes down smoothly,
Perfectly balanced between heavy and not so much.
Other times it slips through my fingers,
And tumbles down; the lid falling unto the carpet,
Memories consuming the floor whilst emptiness creeps in,
And I’m reminded of all that could have been,
But what will not be.
Poem by Poem by J. Grace
*This poem is a year old. I was hesitant to post it but think it needs release. There’s nothing left now of this first love but memories and new (true) love has filled in all the parts of me that were wanting. It’s amazing; It’s only when you finally find the “one” who inspires, motivates, supports, and loves you, regardless of all the messy parts, that you really discover what it is to love someone wholeheartedly and how it feels to be loved the same way in return. My first love was hollow compared to what I know now.