look at me
and you will see
an artist writing
her memories
some are dull
words blank with lull
but some have color
never alike to one another
some are clear
but don’t feel near
and some are blurred
yet oh so curt 
a composition of things she’s written
buried in her heart, so smitten
memories fall and memories glide
on paper, off
and drawn on the side
they’re real and feel
like many lives weaved
instead of just one
she had wanted to leave
it’s better now.
kind of.
in a way, she supposes.
the memories are not as gray, the words ascribing them lighter like day.
so, she, I, will continue breathing
looking, writing, drawing, seeing, 
in september 
she’ll remember...
an artist writing 
her memories.