Memory lane.

Next time you meet her,
will you tell her,
that as the sun dies,
she still pins my heart down.
Or that
her image still flashes before my eyes,
with her voice echoing, still with me,
and her beautiful flaws, altered in my soul.
Or that
her words have made home in my skin,
making me a wonder, of hers,
with her stories crawling out of my eyes.
Or that
her eyes still make me feel at ease,
under the light of the sun,
and our memories, moonlit yet faded,
and above all.
How she has rooted herself so deep in me,
that nothing gets me more than the pain it gives.
I’m stuck.