Pictures of us drunk on moments of ecstasy fill streets down memory lane, flashbacks of the exact second you and I met visit me whenever I feel like giving up on us.
Those little fights won't ever wipe away the feeling of absolute accomplishment the very first time you said you loved me. How your eyes were nervous and you were shaky and seemed so little. So vulnerable.
Another picture takes me back to our very first date, the coldness of January air mixed with the warmth radiating from deep within us made for the perfect climate for our love to bloom.
Another picture and now I'm thinking of the day you introduced me to your friends and family, how your dog ran after me and your sister laughed at me as I ran away in fear.
Oh, what a mess.
My perfect mess.
'One last picture' I tell myself though I'm perfectly aware that once I start I won't ever be able to close our album, the testimony of our love. Hard proof that we're special.
Yeah, we're too special to throw away.
YOU ARE READING
Emotional Torture.
PoezjaCollection of poems and pieces written about daily struggles and tackling big world problems from the eyes of a teenager. Warning: Some chapters might be triggering. Triggers include: Suicide Eating disorder Self harm
