memories of you haunt me - seven
you're everywhere, all whilst not being here.
it’ll be the smallest things you think won’t bother you, until they do. sometimes it can people, belongings - even music.
sometimes i remember him. it’s a funny memory to remember because it was such a big part of who i am today, and who i’ll be tomorrow, and the days to come.
since we cut all forms of communications, i have no way of knowing what he’s thinking, he’s got no form of knowing what i’m thinking - nothing. but i feel like that leaves questions that’ll never have answers.
do you still think of me? do you regret how things ended? do you still listen to that artist and think of me? or do you not listen to him at all? do you wonder how i am? - or have you escaped the clutches of these memories that refuse to cease to exist?
like tame impala once said, the less i know, the better.
i feel like i’m haunted by him. it’s as if the block button didn’t serve its purpose.
i’ve got letters from you. an electric guitar i got for my 15th birthday from you. a polaroid you never really wanted to give to me until i begged for it from you. music from you. a memory of what your phone number ends in from the times i spent blocking and unblocking you.
we fit our friendship into a contract - choosing to unblock each other on birthdays, twice a year. and after the way things ended this year, i know we won’t be doing that. at least i don’t expect you to, or want you to. i refuse to let you physically waltz back into my life as if the memoirs of our relationship don’t already taunt me.
out of everyone, you were the one i never really got proper closure from, and i don’t need it nor do i want it, but it’d be nice if you could fuck off from my brain’s hard drive.
you look different from when we met. you’ve grown since. i know if i told you how i am now, you’d be proud of some things, and disappointed in others. but that’s not for you to hold an opinion to.
you’re nothing more than a whisper and glimpse of past memories. a ghost.
a memory of a person that circulates around my mind like it’s a carousel from time to time.
i can’t help but be sentimental. i hold onto things, as if i can never let go. effectively making me a prisoner to my own mind. i keep birthday cards, the little fortunes out of fortune cookies that i don’t really believe in, the tabs off canned drinks, love letters, every single birthday gift i’ve been given.
do i haunt you, the way you haunt me?
- z.r.h.