Notes from a folder titled nothing but your name

I looked through the folder titled nothing but your name,

it spoke of all the things I loved about you written two years ago,

it also acted as a warning,

speaking of the illusion of certainty,

how you live life, life doesn’t live you.

I wonder how such wisdom came from such young lips,

how I am open to the crashes of life now, at the cost of my false knowing

It also had a list of my fears, most of which held true,

it tells of the love that was felt from the beginning,

and will stay here until it’s clawed away from me,

you saw me bare naked before I ever took my clothes off,

you saw a part of me that has never been,

I wrote of dumping my coffee down the drain when I saw you walking up those blue steps with two in hand,

I wrote about not caring to come out of this unscathed,

and sculptures just being stone before being put under the knife,

I think I crumbled with fear sometime in the cold of winter,

my all or nothing white knuckle fisted it through ground

I am trying to build a castle with burning desert sand,

I spoke of retrospective jealousy,

of wishing I was your first as you were mine,

you will always hold that title in my mind