Past Loves
Our past loves are like
paints
on an artist’s palette.
Our inward beings
Our personalities
Painted by those young
loves.
The little boy that asked
me to color with him.
The young man who held my
books.
The neighbor boy who
changed from annoying
to hey not bad—the first
kiss.
The first long term
relationship
who was difficult to break
up with.
The love that just didn’t
seem to work out,
but was equally
significant.
All the short-term ones.
The purples, blues,
greens, yellows, oranges, reds
of my soul.
And that one that lasts
coming into half a century,
painting my soul with
various colors each day.
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