10

i know the mess on my bedroom floor is temporary,
but it doesn't make me feel any better.

everything about me in this place is going to go away,
and no amount of vandalism
("slh, vp 2011 - 2012"
written in shitty sharpie
on the crease of a doorway)
is going to stop that from eventually happening.

it won't even be eventual.

ten years from now,
i wonder who will remember
how i always braid the same piece of hair
under my left ear, or
who will recall
what toppings i like on my pizza, or
who might remember
the sound of my laughter, the voices i make
when i'm trying to share that laughter,
the humor i cling to
because it's all
i can give.

i wonder who will think about me at all,
ten years from now.

who will remember me as i am at this moment?
will any of my friends?

will i?