A Fine Line Between Time Well Spent.

It’s un-nerving how a memory can come back to you. Strong, yet subtle; bit after bit surfacing. A memory so old and aged that you feel your mind has gone mad for remembering it at all. Like a forgotten ship wreck at the bottom of the sea.

And you’ll try so hard to tuck it back down, to sweep the dirt under the rug, and hope to God it’ll stay there. But it never does. Days, weeks, maybe even years later you’ll forget where you hid that unwanted box of treasures and you’ll accidentally uncover them. And you’ll be reminded of why you treasured that time from the start. It doesn’t hurt because it happened; it hurts because it’s now gone. And you’ve only got memories, as a flickering light, that come and go as they please.

And it’ll wreck you. Rattle your whole being. You’ll be a pacing heart in an empty room. And then they’ll fade again. The dirt, back under the carpet, will rest until stirred again. Unknowingly.

There’s no way around it.


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