Some memories are meant for pictures. Left there to remember but not dwell. Reflect but not harbor; embracing the time for what it was. Some memories are not meant to be passed down because the line between sharing what you learned and exchanging your emotions from that encounter or lack there of is so fine we often find ourselves crossing it without thought. Moving forward is not as scary as being stuck in a place that drains the life out of your life. So take a step, stick the memory in a book, label it "Pressing On" and do just that... #presson.
#noweight
#nomakeup
You will be a still shot in a frame on walls I only pass in my subconscious.
A memory of a moment in time I can’t reproduce
because
all I have are ancient developments of film
reflecting an image I can’t understand.
Light meets dark in a matter of clicks.
When the cheese that was so fresh in my heart has become molded;
Greener than the grass I thought was on the other side.
Red rooms have lost their luster.
No more will I associate deep colors with my love for you
because
You spit on my rainbow without asking me…
To him you are another character in a story book.
A nursery rhyme missing rhythms of 5-7-5.
A haiku that I can’t even mimic as he looks to me for understanding.
To him you are a glimpse into the pessimistic reality that,
there will be people who pass through his life,
only to leave stained images of a memory he wishes he never had.
He will be barren of your deceitful ways.
Unknown to your magical tricks.
Protected from your title.
Alive in the process
because
his satisfaction won’t rely on people of your caliber…
Still shots.
Click.
Empty smiles.
Click.
Seated firmly.
Click.
Where are they now…
4 27 weeks, 26 years
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