As part of Valentine’s examination on modern love, Motley has delved into the world of bad dates, personal essays and poetry. Our second in a poetry series, an anonymous poet lets us in on the inner workings of their heart. 




This feeling will be the one we chase for the rest 

of our lives

When we’re older

Looking to feel young again

When things don’t quite work the way they used 


And our neighbourhoods don’t taste the same

You might not even remember my face

In a memory

I could be the sound of the static energy 

I could be a body

Or an idea of a body

A 5”5 shaped shape on the hands of your more 

established youth

And even so

If you just remember the small of my back

Or one single butterfly

Or one single butterfly

Or the last flicker of a candle before leaving the

room into complete darkness

That will be enough for me.

I will myself remember your jaw

And your eyes narrowed above me staring into 


As if I am a puzzle or a question

Or a 5”5 shape in the hands of your more established youth,

I will remember how my stomach drops and 

flutters when we speak about our pasts, values

and futures.

I would never address to you our differences,

because as soon the words leave my lips I am 

uttering them into existence. And I am so very 

afraid of our differences growing limbs.

Does difference equal harmony? I am not a 

woman of sense or practicality.

I am a woman of chaos.


Accept me.

Love me. 

And when I am just a memory, remember me.