There is something delicious
and essential about the love
that won’t quiet itself – 
that won’t be silenced and calmed
no matter how many blankets we pile on top.

One last ember we stoke and guard.
A memento.
An artifact.
A proof that our hearts have beaten.

We savor it – make a meal on the memory.
We tend to the space it has taken up 
in the cavities of our body.
We offer it as a gift.
A tribute and an honor
to the one who put it there.
This –  I do in remembrance of you.
This belongs to you.
You exist here.
You were cherished.
You were important.

And why do we sit and treasure
these scars and lacerations on our memories – 
single them out for inspection and delicate handling?
Because they are also a tribute and reminder
that we too exist.
We can cherish.
We are important.