She was always using my brush. I hated that.
.
Your hair is still entangled in my brush.
Your number’s still inside my phone.
It seems as though I’ve not been in a rush
To rid myself of these reminders of how once
Our lives were as entangled as these strands
Of hair, or that once upon a time our heads
Lay together on pillows in the same warm bed.
Or that our souls belonged to one another.
But now I clean my brush, remove your hair
Disentangle it from mine forever.
I delete your number from my phone.
I purge you from my heart and soul,
But not my memory, where you abide
Like the strands entangled in my brush.
–Stephen P. Smith
Why not throw it out . . . A bit more permanent perhaps.
It’s not easy Smith, and this just goes to show you’re working through it. Mucho kudos to you, my friend.
Thanks. I’m doing my best. This poem is pretty much based in fact.
-sps
Interesting.
I think you and Spaz are traveling down very similar roads these days.
Check out her latest post.
Kind of cool actually.
~m
Well, great minds DO think alike.
-sps
you could try buying a new brush?
i have a feeling there will be more like this…
Again, the brush! I don’t WANT to throw out the brush! I like my brush! OK, I feel better now. (rant mode off)
no doubt one or two more of these will find their way to the surface.
Very honest and open. Not so comforting to read the obvious pain still in your memories, but comforting to see you taking the steps to move on. Baby steps, my friend. Baby steps.
yeah, I’m getting there. Thank for the kind words, Sam.
-sps
i feel your pain in that poem. just know that it does get better, with each passing day.
that’s what I hear. Thanks for stopping by, Reg.
-sps
It does take a while to get untangled.
You got that right!
-sps