Please

Please tell me that your memories are still there.

I often wonder if I would disappear along with them.

I remember the weak smile crossing your face when you said that they wouldn’t.

Has that answer changed?

Please tell me that you are happy.

I hope you’re unhappy.

I hope you’re happy.

I hope you’re happy with a little bit of unhappy.

Please tell me you feel something.

I thought it would be over by now.

You will always be just out of reach.

Even skin to skin, I cannot touch you.

Yet, you have touched me.

You opened my heart, and I’m afraid you never closed it.

Please come back and finish what you started.

I don’t want you hurting.

I just don’t want to be hurting either.

Why can’t these two coexist?

I know that this is all pointless.

I know that writing these won’t bring anything but shame.

And maybe embarrassment.

Please feel something.

It’s funny that your name is a part of my story.

My “what, where, when, how, and why”.

If I left you out of my story, there would not be much to tell.

It’s context, backstory, and reminiscence.

It’s funny though.

The part where you became the theme.

Your chapter spilled over into the rest of the novel.

Everything could easily blur together.

Even when the lines were so clearly different, you were in between them.

Please don’t hide anymore.

I wonder if I was a blip.

Or if I am multiple blips.

Am I in even a line of your story?

Am I just lazy writing that your author brings in every once in a while to get more inspiration for future characters?

Please let me be more.

I am told to never forget the roots of the most important parts of me.

I don’t see how I can when you’re just beneath my surface at all times.

I know that for as long as I am alive, neither one of us can forget.

Still, it’s worth saying

Please don’t ever forget us.