red memory

red

 

I imagine holding up a sheet of paper in front of me, and the only one in the crowd is you.  The glare of the light blinded me for a while as I tried to remind you of how much you mean to me.

Forgive me because I have a weak heart, and forgive me if all the songs in the world remind me of you right now.  I didn’t know how such an insignificant shuffled song would make so much sense for you and I, just like a fiction novel.  It’ll only ever be as real as everything in my head.

You only look back at me with those playful, merry eyes as a naivete settles upon you.  It’s a naivete not of innocence, but of unawareness.  But who can blame you?

The memories of you and I flood my head, the first ones slow but the others rushed past me as if wanting to get out.  They feel cold to the touch as I tried to linger.  They are slowly losing significance to me, losing the meaning I had so much invested to hold onto you, to try to prove to someone, anyone, that we had something, whatever that may be.

Forgive me if I returned to you again, forgive me if the words were trying to make their way to you.  Forgive me for incessantly knocking on the solid gates of your mind, my knuckles bruised and blue from all the callings-out, the constant questions if you still remembered what I remembered.  But they only echo back with a tinge of desperation–just a tinge– because you can’t hear them.  Not even a little bit.

What hurts the most is how much the glances I give you hold so many things unsaid, so many things I could’ve said, things I would’ve wanted to say.  But the things I want so badly to tell you can no longer be heard because I never opened my mouth in the first place.

And just as you met my tired eyes, I had already looked away.

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