Bottom of my Heart

I clench my fist to make an imaginary ball of anger buried in the nooks and corners of my bones.

I make an imaginary ball of the things I was to let go.

I clench it hard until my nails make an impression on the palm of my hands only to open it and let the ball out of my hands, straight in the universe, flying, floating, bouncing irrespective of anything else.

But, when I form a ball to let your memories go, the ball just floats around me all day long, not ready to leave me.

It follows me as I climb the stairs, pass from hallways, peak into windows of unknown yet known classrooms, while walking through alleys and looking at two people who make me re-live certain moments again everyday.

The farther I try to push the ball, the closer it starts to float around me to find a way back from where it came; the bottom of my heart.

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