It is all a blur now - me and you. That face I once had memorised - the way your lips curled up into a smile, the crook of your nose, the brown of your eyes - it is all fading, and sometimes, just sometimes, I wish for the memories to come back. I am addicted to the pain, it seems. Or maybe I am addicted to the idea of you, I don't know.
I used to think of my love as something pure, something pristine. Maybe it was never reciprocated, maybe it was never seen, but it was still present, inside me, owning me, filling every inch of me with absolute warmth. Loving you, it seemed, was such an exquisite form of self destruction. It seemed wrong just then - loving you like that, loving you at all.
But you had me wrapped around your little finger - feeding my heart with each breath you took. I look at you now, and all I feel is a searing pain, like someone pricking every fibre of my being with a silver needle, then stitching me back together before reopening each wound with ruthlessness.
I don't miss you anymore, I just remember you, seldom.
You are but a memory, hidden in the darkest chamber of my heart, one that I never wish to see again.
