Pack Rat - II

I have felt the need
To find. Collect. Keep.
Store away.
Anything and everything.
To do with you.
As I sift through it all
I realize,
I've got a Piyushkin complex.
About you.

It is not doing me any good.
If you find out, it'll do me worse.
What can I do?
I hoard you.
If you say something hurtful,
I will probably hoard that too.

Waiting, I am
for when I know
how to throw it all away.
and just have you.
You see,
this is all I have
in your absence.
Stills of you
in the drawers of my mind.
That keep me company
in this abyss of stupidity.
A secret stash of you, I have.
Unshareable, it is.

My memory serves me well, doesn't it?
Does yours?
Do you store and sift?
Do you open drawers of me?
Tell me you do.
Even if only now and then.
Do you indulge
in that occasional daydream?

Greater value perceived than inherent
in a hoarder's items, they say.
How to argue with that?
Memories. Images. Sounds.
What value, hold they?
Immensely important,
Think not you?
I've been told that
I remember
"the important things".

I hoard. To remember you.
To tell you, you are important, still.
As have always been.
I just can't tell you.
Yet.