Warm Fuzzies

What it was is not what it is
and where it went is nowhere near
the place it will come to be.

I've got warm fuzzies in my mind
and in my heart and in the pit of
my stomach that ties in knots
every time that he comes near
and every time I suddenly hear
the words from his lips that melt
and then drips over my body
like the ice that thaws over my
torn
and broken
ugly, hopelessly
slain on the cutting room floor
heart.

I get warm fuzzies that slowly find
a way into those broken pieces
and they begin to melt the steel
and weld it back together
and stay there forever,
leaving fuzzy little fragments
to remind me that he existed
and to cheer me up when he no longer does.

What it is is not what it was
And what it has come to be
is nowhere near where it went.