your mind is not a gallery, i don’t want to walk around and look at the paintings you made for her. i don’t want to smell the fresh scent of the fabric colour that will roll of in waves from your walls. i don’t want to see the way her initials can still be seen through the triple coat of paint.
your mind is not a garden, i don’t want walk look around and see all the roses she planted and all the thorns you puked. i don’t want to look at the weeds spreading around as i touch every part of you. i don’t want to see your leaves turning yellow.
your mind is not a map, i don’t want to explore and whisper the names of the cities and the people that don’t make sense. i don’t want to look at the trail my hands make from your home to heart, from your heart to the place you fall asleep. I don’t want to look at how fresh her name looks over the place you marked as your home, how it still stands out.
your mind is not a museum, i don’t want to look at the artefacts you saved for her. i don’t want to find the fossils of her broken heart you still hide in every corner.
your mind is not a library, i don’t want to read your story and find her name in every chapter. i don’t want to see how you wrote her a poem and titled it after me. i don’t know want to know how she was beautiful enough to make the stars fall.
your mind is a part of you and all these metaphors will never be enough to describe you. but i don’t want to know how happy you were with her, i don’t want to know how happy she still makes you. i don’t want to know anything, i don’t want to know anything.
– t, your mind is a part of you and i cant wait to piece all of it together.