Ours is a story written in the sands, gone with the wind and love, washed away by waves of suspicion. Whatever was left of the memories burned in altars of our minds and here we stand hanging on to fallacies. I’ve been there before, to that heartbreak shore, wetting my feet in the tides of our times and collecting seashells. It’s useless to think about changes, they’re constant.
My eyes haven’t witnessed sunrise for a long time now, it only sets. The sense of direction was lost long before I could find a way, the stranded heart follows hollow voices hoping they’re yours; it fails to realise it can only pump blood. Sometimes I wish I could just put on my old jeans and blue hoodie and walk the same old street like nothing ever happened, like my skin never knew your touch.
I wish. Do you?