The hope of us got too heavy to hold, so I laid it down next to the memories that time now slowly takes from me.
Before the memories leave, I flip through them like I would a magazine. How would I like to hurt myself today?
Tears then trace my neck where kisses used to start fires and I’ll admit even then my mind still wanders to where you are.
The worst part of life’s fleeting moments is not the growing fuzziness of its image with the passage of time, but the maintenance of emotions they gave us. They haunt us far more than the person ever could.
I’d rather be dead and at peace than alive and at war with any other heart again. But how can I truly know peace when it came as I laid in your arms? Would it be peace then, without you?
If dying meant peace without you, I would never know rest.
But time takes you from me, and gives me back
And without the hope of you, I am safe from you.
A Series of Observations 