I see you,
but no longer do I recognize you.
You were a mirage.
A fake haven in a
smouldering wasteland.
Tag: Memories
Free
Within those moments
my entire reality became suspended.
It felt like the idea of time
no longer concerned me
and that I had finally found
my long-sought peace.
Gone were the worries
and intrusive thoughts
hindering my existence.
The world around me
had simply faded away...
and all I felt was free.
Time
I hate time. I wish it would stop.
I wish time would pause, take a break, and forget to restart.
I wish that the hands on the clock would inexplicably stop ticking their way through moments that will never come back and that the squares on every calendar were occupied with events that would never occur.
I wish that the future didn't exist so that my days with you were countless.
I wish that time would simply stop so that my life with you was endless.
Maybe
Yes, maybe now it doesn't feel the same.
Maybe now everything has changed and shifted to the places once unknown to us.
Places so distant that now we feel closer as strangers than we ever felt as we did together. Maybe each day my feelings have evolved into emotions that I never thought my brain could possibly possess.
But maybe now it somehow all feels better.
Maybe now everything is how it always should have been.
Simultaneously
Are memories formed within the exact moment we experience them?
Can a split second simultaneously become the past and present as the neurons in our brains try to differentiate between the now and then?
Are we able to remember the details of everything happening to us as if they have already happened?
How do we know where the timelines truly begin?
Or when the memories actually end?
Words
Words have a lasting impact,
even the most seemingly insignificant ones.
Simple sentences morph into occult scars
that radiate with permanence and persistence within our heads.
Intrusive echoes left to remind us
of days long past and moments long gone.
Mere words become our
blessings and burdens.
Easily spoken,
yet impossible to forget.
Retellings
Sometimes you begin to tell me a story that you've already told me, but I let you continue.
I just nod, smiling, appearing as though everything you're telling me is brand new. Yet if I'm being honest, I don't truly listen to the words. I listen just enough so that I seem attentive, I keep my responses bland and short.
However, I use those times to study you, encapsulate your voice, absorb all your mannerisms and expressions. I watch the way you create each syllable rather than hear the meaning behind them. I focus on everything about you except the content of your speech.
For those precious moments I will never stop you from retelling me your story.
I'm simply grateful to be able to hear you tell them to me twice.
Grief
The sutures separate as old memories stir, sadness spills out from between the seams. But that's grief… Dehiscing delicate wounds each time they decide to close.
Detached
She couldn't understand why
she never felt the pain...
It had to have hurt.
It was the cortisol,
the norepinephrine...
It was the chemicals produced from
sheer panic that had instantaneously
turned her blood into red rivers
of viscous lidocaine.
Her senses so forcibly amplified
that everything else had just
gone numb.
0918
She regretted her silence.
She regretted not putting up a fight.
She regretted blankly staring
into the off-white frame holding
one of the happiest moments of her life...
While he was giving her one of her worst.
AO Poetry 
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