"Forgive me if I don't understand how you can still love me, and yet be thinking about him."
His voice is acid, cutting me to the bone. My answer boils in my heart.
Because I love you and you're gone and I can never have you again; all I have of us is my memories. It's my fault you're dead. I've been waiting for someone like you to appear and I can't have that because nobody is like you or ever will be. We were good, great even. And I miss feeling like living.
I want to love him.
I know it probably won't be the same as how I love you; I gave so much of my heart to you and the memory of you that there's barely enough for me. You're one of the best things that happened to me, and I'm sorry you died because of me.
But I want to learn how to love again.
I say nothing in reply. He fades away for the last time and I am still alone when I wake. Memories should not be left to dust, nor should they be polished.
The ghost of the past is fickle and I have faced its scythe.
