My heart is a patchwork of memorabilia,
Ghostly shrines to loves come and gone.
Mismatched clothes litter my laundry
Since I've been left all alone.
Their scents still linger for me to breathe deep,
Anything to keep them forever close.
I am selfish with their memory
Even though, in the end, it was me that I chose.
Some might call me a narcissist,
But I doubt I will ever love only one.
I get drunk on love itself—the taste of their kiss;
I'd be lying if I said I was done.