January 2013

My mind is on a non-stop replay of flashbacks. The trail of memories is like an old movie you can’t help but watch every time you feel like your world has lost touch with the sunlight. I touch the tattoo on the inside of my forearm for every moment in time I think of you. I touch that tattoo a lot.

This pain is different. I know I miss you, whether I’m alone or in a crowd, but I pretend the feelings are not really there. I delude myself. I dream of the day I can text you a simple message and that that alone will patch up all the holes on this charred path. I’m not quite sure what I am holding on to. I think I have always been frightened of moving on and starting over. To this point where I refused to believe we were better off without each other.  

And right now, as I’m sitting here in a room of faces, I wonder, where did we go right? 

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