There is a strange sort of nostalgia that pulls me towards you again and again. Each time I say goodbye and think I have forgotten, memories come reminding.
Shards of yesterday
A million dreams
Scattered and nameless
I always wonder if I made a mistake with you. And the little space of could-be leaves me annoyed and just a little unsure.
And as always I write about it and leave it like I see it, as a lingering-passing thought. Perhaps tomorrow I will remember a little lesser. Perhaps tomorrow I will finally let go.