Pieces

Do you have it though, still. With you. Did you keep it? The piece of me that I had given to you. That you had taken from me. In 2010. In 2011. Toward the end of 2012. Some months of 2013. You never let me be. You came back always. Every year for a bit. To unshackle me. To make me go wild. To make me implode. And in the end of the roughly annual excercise, I gave you a piece of me. Like a trophy. Something to slide you buy until the next interval in exile. When you would pop up again. Like it was a trivial non-incident. Per your whims. And per my fancies. As if it was nothing. As if you'd never left. I gave you those pieces. Of me. Scrapes of my soul. Did you keep them though. In some office drawer. Or in the kitchen cabinet. Or in the pocket of an old shirt. Like the receipt from a first date. Like an eyelash you made a wish with. Like the butt of a cigarette you shared. Like poems scribbled on tissue paper. Like dreams and memories of dreams. Etcetra. Did you keep them though. Did you think to keep them even. They clearly have no worth. You're a smart man of calculations. You wouldn't keep them in an ideal world. But in the flawed world of our flawed love, I would secretly hope you had kept them, even half a decade after our hearts have thawed. So, did you keep those pieces. Be honest with me now. You probably owe this to me. In the very least. Did ya