Posted: March 6, 2015 in Uncategorized

A serious reader would immediately deduce that his recollection of her was certain..definite even.
But as he transfers his memories of her from his entranced mind onto a single piece of paper, he knows they are vague.
He is mortified that his recollection of her enthusiastic gait is not exact.
He surely couldn’t have forgotten her ebony hair that fell on her stoic shoulders like a waterfall,
The arched brows that rose inquisitively with every question that she asked,
He knows he must remember the hypnotic eyes that were the colour of coal,
Her pointed fingers that would wrap round his large hand as they strolled in the tranquil evening,
He must refuse to have a hazy recollection of her unearthly beauty,
But his mind holds him in captivity,
The only precise memories that reign in his head are her pale eyes,
Clear in death.
Her neatly folded hands on her stomach,
The deliberate smile on her firmly closed lips,
The narcissistic white veil that covered her face
He wishes he could magically conjure up happier memories of their time together..and not horrifying memories of her in a mahogany box,
As he fills up the single paper with the desperate honesty of a jilted lover, his heart becomes a panting maniac.
This is a dangerous trend.
And with a mixture of ferocity and morbid fear that betrays his loneliness, he tears up the single paper into a million pieces,
Sinking to the floor in despair.
He knows that in the unwelcome actions of his mind, lurks a general lesson-he ought to forget,
He ought to move on.
Perhaps he should abandon all the memories, sad and happy alike,
Because she isn’t coming back,
After all, ghosts don’t walk.



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