My mind feels frail. Void of forget-me-nots and full of forget-me-sos, it’s not what I remember about you that haunts my memory. It’s the deep sense of an abundance of moments and good tidings which forgo remembrance which incites an unavoidable fear that who we were no longer exists, save for in few cornerstones long looked over. Except they aren’t even cornerstones anymore, they’re just corner dust which remain invisible unless under magnification. The scent of vanilla or grapefruit lingers upon our most sacred of surfaces; the last living remnant of you, here. If taking care to live in the present means letting the past slip from my sorrowful grasp, then that leaves us as nothing more than passing thoughts and parted glances. I wish I could tell you that I’m far from composed, but I guess this will pass, too, into the beyond and becoming, maybe to be found again.
Painting Credit to Pat Meier-Johnson’s “Left-handed Still Life with Fruit”:



Ruth May is a senior undergraduate student at St. Cloud State University, studying Women’s Studies, Human Relations, and Film Studies. Ruth is a white, gender nonconforming trans woman from a poor, working class background with a passion for feminism, fashion, film, and rad tunes.  Monitor blog analyst.



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