Sometimes I sit very still, close my eyes gently, and remember the scent of you. It's usually after I bump into someone wearing your cologne. The smell is close enough to bring you to mind, but lacks those tones specific to you, I strain my mind trying to remember them. That scent that was so unmistakably you is so vague, the memory flits on the outskirts of my mind, always trying to allude me. See my mind knows better than to let the other self remember you. What would be the point in allowing that false comfort? Sure, sometimes it's nice to go back, to remember those times before I had lost the single most precious thing in the world.
Because we were more than this. We were better. Better than the best and brightest dreams they sell in universities. Better than cars and tvs and dvd collections and limitless mp3s, better than the best fine cuisine. Better than even the strongest friendships. Better than any success one could hope to find.
Better than anything life has to offer.
And now I am without you, and must always be confronted by the knowledge that neither today, nor tomorrow, will there be anything better than us.
When I met you I lost my taste for anything else.
What do I do now? Knowing nothing...will ever be right again? And I will never again have a place I belong?
What do I do now that nothing matters?
I guess I can sit silently, looking as though I am merely day dreaming, and try, try so hard to remember what life was before my heart was shattered.
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