My home will be wallpapered 
with photos of every happy memory
I have managed to hold onto.
They will cover every square inch of the place,
spilling over onto the floor and ceiling
when I run out of room.
I will overlap them,
stacking them as high as they can go
until I have a record of every bit
of the life I used to love,
pushing in on me tight enough
to squeeze the present out of my body
and suffocate me so that I may return
to where it all began.

When I listen to music,
I always start the song over
before it is finished,
never wanting to actually make it to the end–
to move on.
I would listen to the scratch on a record
as long as it’s stuck on my favorite part.
Willingly held prisoner in the dust and scratches
that decorate the grooves,
so familiar and comfortable 
they feel more like trophies than scars
or imperfections. 

My life is a love letter
to the girl in the photographs
that will one day cover the walls of my present,
to the girl trapped in one note of music
with no desire to get out.
The letter reads 
“I miss you
with every beat of my heart.
I would go back in time and never return
just so I could be you again.”