The more I talk about him with an unregrettable way,
The more I heal from the inside,
The better I breathe oxygen, rather than breathing sadness.
The memories, feel like highlighted parts of my dusted books.
All that is left, is for me to reach the last page,
And it’s been five years, and I still can’t make myself read the end of this story.
Ah, the curse of a breakup’s anniversary.
The time a human will reminisce
And revisit memories that were locked up in pandora’s box, commonly known as the subconscious.
Just when snapchat’s memories feature was about to lose its sting.
A moment that can be described as a hit from the ocean’s wave,
Filled with emotions that belonged to the past.
And the state of being currently wet from the salty water,
That refreshing feeling reminds you how the good times were… fulfilling, overwriting all the bad shit that went down,
But that saltiness fuels that regret of causing so much damage to him as you tried to heal yourself within your mind’s chaos.
Then the sun kindly dries you up, and its warmth hugs you all over,
Sending rays of reassurance and hope, that it’s okay to be alright, and that he’s better now.
It gets better
After you pass the first big dates without him.
The feelings rush through your nerves,
Viewing flashbacks of all the happy moments
And even the mental breakdowns you had.
Reminding you why it worked for a while,
And why you both had to leave.
You’ve passed the heavenly end of summer,
You’ve passed the day you approached him again,
You’ll pass the anniversary,
You’ll pass his birthday,
You’ll pass that intense Christmas.
You’ll pass the re-writes of all New years.
You’ll pass it all without him, and it’s okay.
One stage of getting over someone you loved is when you start convincing yourself how it wasn’t love and that it was just an illusion.
That stage of denial and the shoving away of memories into boxes and hiding them under a pile of mess.
Whether it’s a right or wrong method, it helps sometimes, and it’s helping at the moment.
Please take it back,
Take it all away,
Tell me we have never been,
And we can never be.
Don’t take me apart
For someone else to figure out.
Love yourself more
And just kick me out of your sight
Allow me to hate the idea of you and I,
As I’m confused why there is no fucking us.
We honor moments by remembering them,
Honors them for the both of us.
Now he’s found a way for me to honor them too.
She would look into the direction of his neighborhood, as she drove past it, feeling
Sad. Or at least that “ah, yeah that one from that time”… and rather than feeling indifferent, being sad for a bit was the better option. I think.
I don’t know. It was some kind of internal theatrical conflict to give the years she was with him a bit of value, out of respect for Love.
Is felt when you revisit it through
A visual representation
Or a written piece describing
that moment and
Your body -or heart- recalls
all the strong emotions attached to it.
The dead do not speak but through the retold stories of those who knew them.
The dead live through the memories of those who still breathe.