Wary

I know now why I am wary of you,

why I'm careful about what I say and do:

It's because I'm afraid to leave pieces of

myself with someone else--

pieces, like old photographs, they stuff in a box

and put on a shelf.

I'm afraid of having no part of you

to carry with me when we're gone;

or that I may have too much with me,

that the missing may be long.

I'm afraid I may get used to seeing you

at the same times every day, 

so much that I cannot move on

when you've gone away. 

I've put my heart too much in you--

I've stitched yours in with mine.

I fear the parting hole won't heal--

no needle and thread with time.

So I try to cut my ties with you

before they're strongly made; 

I'll pretend it never happened,

force the memories to fade. 

I try and want and cannot do

--that I'm still wary is true-- 

but it is because I find I care too much for you.