Prose #7
–
I found myself
entering our past.
In a classic
white room where
every corner is painted
with blues of our
memories that you
long forgotten. I know,
it's been a while. I'm
right over here, reminiscing
our forgotten past, it could
have been last.
You left me in tears again,
remembering what we had been.
What we could have been.
I'm hurt again.
Why did you left me with those broken memories?
Why did you forget me—Us?
Why am I still
chained?
Why am I being
chased?
I want to forget you, too, like how you forget me.
—𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬
