Note to Self II

I cannot save the world
despite my Mother Teresa
  complex.
I shouldn't be counted on to salvage
anything, even the dying
plumeria plant
sitting on the kitchen
window sill.

I must forgive myself sometimes
because I will continue to make mistakes
I will keep on using too many
nested “ifs” or access
  indexer of objects
too often. I will accidentally
hurt you even
when I don't mean to.

There are things I am bound to forget:
dates of various World War I
  battles, our battles,
what size shoes you wear,
your favorite dish at Russ & Daughters
on Houston.

But I remember
watching Persepolis at Angelika,
the smell of snow, Jenny Lake
and the way your hair
  curls to the left
right in front of your eyes.

I say things I'd like to
lasso back
because careless
  arrangement of the alphabet
makes a mess of things,
too much lost in translation
from thoughts to words.

I fall and stumble
most likely when the ground
is smooth and there is very little
  change in the terrain
and sometimes, in love,
but always, into life

I will not lie
catatonic in front of Scrubs reruns
while you wash the dinner plates
(because you know I hate
  the smell of dish detergent)
and on that note, I will never lie.