pigment of my memory

just saying...

Every love affair has their own story.

I guess we are nearing our death.

Or maybe, this is the phase where we will die and get resurrected

And be what we used to be – in love and happy.

Or maybe this is the part that I am dreaming

And hoping that all these are not true.

That we are still happy.

That we are still going to be happy.

I used to have a folder of poems of how happy we are

How much we love each other

How in love we were…

A compilation of our happiest feelings

They were reminders of the kind of love we were sharing

Maybe they are our promises that we will stay that way

Or maybe, reminders that if we no longer have that state

We should fight for our love over and over again…

Now I just realized, those poems I’ve written for us

Are maybe meant to stay on those papers

Just a written pigment of my memory

For I have to face what is real

That we are not happy anymore

The love might still be there

But I guess the rest is gone

Just like a dream
I can’t remember them,
when I opened my eyes to reality.