I wish I would wake up with amnesia
So I wouldn’t remember all the little things that kill me
I don’t want to snuggle up with my baby blanket on my neck and realize I only do that because that’s how my mom put me to bed
I don’t want to remember the taste of the green tea she always drank in the summer
Or hear the shopping channel ever again
I don’t want to hear the clink of a spoon hit the side of a bowl in another room and immediately think it’s her
I don’t want to wonder if she’s wearing my clothes
I don’t even want to cry because she would tell me I sound ridiculous
I don’t want to sit by my bedroom window smoking a cigarette and automatically try and imagine I was in my old room
I can’t sing to certain songs in the shower
I can’t eat m&ms
I can’t use half the glasses at my house because she had the same ones
I can’t step on cold tile floor without having a flashback
I can’t look at my old pictures
I can’t
I can’t
I fucking
can’t
