Dominic Riccitello
Jun 16, 2026

in circles of memories

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i feel my bones breaking cracking from the pits of what i call this the hollow beneath the noise the place where old feelings settle and refuse to leave the desire of fields and men who leave me with their ghosts and i ache for it the feeling the devotion the matrimony of wanting the need to belong somewhere even if only for a moment i sting like startled bees knees twisting beneath me and everything feels ever so melancholy the air feels heavier here like rain that never falls like words caught in throats waiting for permission my back bends and bleeds beneath old memories the desire of once where i spin in circles around a place i used to hold onto like it could save me from myself and i’m tired not of living but of carrying so much feeling through ordinary days begging to feel some sense of normalcy in a world where i seem to feel everything at once the lights the sounds the way people leave rooms without realizing what they take with them i break to bend bend to survive and hell is sometimes nothing more than feeling too much for too long this man i used to be yes used to be still visits me sometimes through songs heard accidentally through late drives through the smell of summer pavement after the sun has gone down i feel him every once in a while the fingers how they used to twist together in chaos and comfort how hands could say things mouths never learned how to until time itself began twisting with us i loved in the ether in possibility in moments i still leave you inside moments pointed toward forever time chambered and waiting your fingers locked inside mine the warmth of your skin the pulse beneath your wrist the way silence felt softer when you occupied it with me i know you feel this i know there is some part of you that remembers too because memory does not disappear it changes shape it settles deeper it learns how to hide i can still taste the memory of it the warmth the longing the ache of being seen the feeling that for a moment someone looked directly at me and understood but can you feel it when the room falls silent when the night grows heavy when memory reaches for you the way it still reaches for me pulling softly like fingers intertwined refusing to let go completely