My memories are screaming at me. They’re mad about the times when I smiled when you told me “You’re beautiful.” They’re mad about the times we’d meet up on lonely nights like this — on late nights when the emptiness in the air would consume me and I’d find myself missing you. They’re mad about the meet ups under lamp posts — the ones where we’d hide behind darkness and away from people just to be together for one swift moment. They’re mad about the times I believed you loved me. I get it, stop screaming. I’m mad about them too, I swear. It won’t be this way again. I promise.
We were in a place that was full of longings from our past and people we called our friends. I’ve felt distance when we didn’t see each other for a month but I don’t think I’ve ever felt such distance sitting next to you. My memories, they’re screaming. Please, stop reminding me. Please. I get that it was all beautiful and amazing but do you really have to keep bringing up the past? We both know that it will never be this way anymore. It just won’t. We’re certain.
After a period of loneliness and of not seeing you, I believed that I could actually bring us back — just like how you can pull a loved-one into a hug even when they’ve passed away or how a broken mirror can still be put together even if it has shattered. I actually believed in the impossible. How stupid. How idealistic. I knew about the downfall of what happened but I didn’t think it would have been this bad. I didn’t think it would be unrepairable. Now I know that you should leave the dead in peace and broken mirrors are still in every way shattered, no matter how hard you try to fix it. I shouldn’t have gave into my memories. They only know about the better times. They only scream about what-had-beens.
We’re seeing each other for another time and it’s like looking back at an old photograph and realizing how long ago it’s been. You’re trying to pick up from where we left off but once again my memories are screaming.
Once again, I am regretting you.