On the Seventh Year, I Remember my Goal of Forgetting

I reduce you. It is my goal. Your figure becomes smaller as the calendar drags forward. I see the distance grow between now and then - I allow its size to eclipse you more and more. Today you are smaller than yesterday. Tomorrow you will be smaller yet. I take my hands and push all swirling moments onto a line. I throw you to the back of it. I smother you in seven years. There I will not see you.