Everything’s tangled into one intertwining web of memories now—I can’t separate reality from my imagination, and the pandemonium here of the hypnotic transit of lies, leave me, leave me…
It shouldn’t be that bad, given that my nerves have grown so old and useless now and I barely feel anything anymore, but sometimes I come across a little moment of you and me, tasting the overripe raspberries growing on the bushes over the hill, eating French fries dipped into coke on your rooftop on Friday nights, painting portraits of each other with our feet in the spring mud, lying in the middle of the street at midnight while tracing the stars with our eyes, and the cumbersome suffering I bear is somewhat lighter, somewhat smaller…
But then I remember that you left ages ago, left me here and shivering, and then I do not know whether these memories came before or after, and it hurts to try and distinguish them, when I am so tired of reliving this sorrow, so tired of sentencing myself to this despair…
So I just let the spidery threads of dusk’s mockery subdue me into a quiet slumber, until the memories are no more, the pain is no more, and you are no more.