margins

margins

i am becoming
like a series of pencil strokes;
an addendum.
squeezed in without thought
whilst waiting for the kettle to boil.

just a name,
left to curl and fray
around papery edges.

a fragment torn away
unexpectedly.
and another.
until little remains of the original.

only half,
of half a memory,
that no one can remember,
remembering.