When she comes, it hurts like pulling out the bandage. It is like as if she is checking if the wounds below the bandage are healed. Tears of remorse flow down. I would love to warn her about the depth and the healing status of the wound, but either she is deaf or more so pretends to be. For when I need her, sometimes she comes immediately.

Her eye for details scares me sometimes, she remembers every microsecond of the tragedy and foggy details of joy. She is beautiful, I can say. A deadly kind of beautiful. She is probably a blessing in disguise which I am unable to recognize. But for now, I would like to remain away from her. No, not that her beauty intimates me. But just that I am afraid that the wound within hasn’t healed itself yet.
She tried to stay away from me but she put this crazy little idea into Mark Zuckerberg and Facebook beautifully adorns her on our walls. When I look into my feed, I feel like she is mocking me , but then I maybe just over-thinking you know.

I ask myself sometimes, hadn’t she been there, would I  have been able to put myself back? Because it was the good of her that I clung to. Now, I am writing about her, but she seems to be busy playing with someone else’s mind. Memory is her name. Beautiful. Isn’t she ?

She and I, we have a history and it is bitter sweet. How is your history with her?


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