[There is a name written on my heart.]
I am a writer of lists. Little memorandums of groceries, movies, playlist tracks, lexicon, errands, or boys I have lent my heart to. Footnotes tacked to my door trail across my vision as I run to school each morning and the margins of my writing tablet are riddled with notations so cryptic even I won't be able to decipher them at the end of the day.
Vito's Ordination Song
Drop off resume
It occurs to me that I should save these deciduous leaflets of thought, so I paste them together in a book of other extracts from the vicissitudes of my life.
Lists of: Often unfinished chores, verse excerpts, epistles secret and unsent, options post-graduation, reasons I love my sister, lost items, umbrages I've yet to forgive, scriptures that speak to me, tangohen (vocabulary).
Maybe when I look back at the close I'll find I've recollected something else entirely.
I've scratched it out so many times there is a tear now.]