“What do I do with the memories?”
She demands of him, icy fire burning her cheeks
“The times I dreamt of our future together?
Hoping that we’d grow old, and watch the other die?”
She fell in love with the ghost of an idea
That love was enough to sacrifice her self
That he would be a constant to her change
And he would be the magic to her pain
Those bicycle rides in her lane
His composure against her craze
And those tiny notes on her book shelf
Burnt down to the ground, one after another.
“What do I do with the memories,” she asks
Shaking with grief, and anger, and betrayal
Apologizing for something she cannot understand
“You make me want to be better for you,” she says.
“I burried those flowers down to the ground
And set fire to the empty words
I cut the telephone wire to control my urges
But what do I do with the memories?”
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