This Is My Memory

You always call me into play.
Always.
Like a damn near broken record.
Playing.
Playing on.
I am so turned off.
I could sprawl on this bed and catch you watching.

You are too many digits too easily remembered.
You are the reason I use caller id.

My phone can be off, or changed,
or gifted to me.
But you still have the same ring.
I can dress you up,
but you still come to me dressed down.

My memory is brutally sharp.
I left you a thousand times,
and I still feel you next to me.
Remind me why I never felt you let go?

When I retell a story and your in it,
I see you smile.
You knew I would retell them one day.

And so you waited.
You left yourself right where we were,
in hopes I would come back one day.

And here I am retelling tales.
And I have to play the shocked little girl.
Oh, look who we have here?

But you never left did you?
You never left?