I thought I could carry this love for two.

My back was strong

Besides...

shouldn't true love be light as a feather?

I thought about it stooped with the weight while waiting.

My father used to recycle aluminum cans for money.

When 

he carried his garbage bag

full of cans

down to the weigh-in station,

they would

check to make sure there was no steel hidden in there to artificially alter the weight

-impurites, selfish desires, cheating-

before they paid him by the pound.

My bag is full too.

I've been collecting for fifteen years.

Pictures, postcards, words, phrases...anything with your scent or touch.

I've been proud of the weight.

But

now I am so tired.

How much was pure?

What will I be paid by the pound for this love?

These questions seem like a sin to ask.

But they must be asked by me.

Sifting through pictures, postcards, words, phrases, anything with your scent or touch

One last time.

Alone.