Seven Years

Seven cycles of the seasons later,
and I'm still gluing back together
my glass heart,

causing new flowers to blossom
on the edge of my fingertips
everytime I slip

Replacing my shadow with abstracted memories
of who you were, and what we shared

Seven cycles of life and death,
seven cycles of decay and rejuvenation later,
and I'm still sitting here
obsessing over my regrets

Would you recognize me, after so many years, I wonder?
Would I want you to recognize me, even?

I miss you.
And I miss the me
that you were proud
to love.