Our memory, dear friend that we think it to be, is a traitor to all that we hold dear. It’s not that we lose the people that we held so dear, the ones that we knew and loved. It’s not blank spots where they used to be that hurts, but the hollow facsimiles in their place.
It’s only been a few days, and while I can remember the way that you laughed and how lost in yourself you were when you danced, I can no longer remember your eyes. They are blue in one memory, and then gray in another, brown in a third. I remember the way you sounded when you sang along to the radio, but not the way you smelled when you held me close.
Slowly, this person in my head in being replaced by a hollow idea. The genuine feelings are becoming generic loss and I hate it.
I can’t have you anymore, I know. I messed that up, let you go without the goodbye that either of us deserved. I don’t deserve to be able to hold you or kiss you or make small conversation while the sun slides across the floor.
You are gone from my present, but can’t I at least keep you in my past? The way you truly were, not this idea of you that I had that diverges from who you were with every passing hour, let alone from who you are.
If I can’t have you, can’t I at least have that?
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