Memories.

October 2006.

I wrote you one more letter,

a lament of this ending.

As my saliva hit the paper,

images rolled across my eyes.

All the memories I held with you,

years and years you're saying goodbye to.

But I didn't seal that envelope,

oh no, I didn't.

I walked back up the street,

and I threw it straight in the trash.

If you don't want those memories,

you don't deserve them, either.