Certain songs bring back memories of points in times. Of meanings hidden. This is why I say that love stories are lies. They are never unique to you.
Maybe I've finally adjusted to the body pillow instead of the bolster, the right side instead of the left, your arms around me through the night. At this point I wish I had more time, but I guess there's no point in the what ifs or maybes, perhaps or could haves. Time exists now to curl our hands around, to entangle in our grasp before it too slips away like a momentary feeling. A fleeting kiss, an embrace all too soon forgotten. Things in memories remain pure, untainted by uncertainly, a distillation of emotions.
Sometimes I wonder how I'll adjust to not having you around, sometimes I believe I'll be ok. Sometimes, I wish I could live inside my head and its replaying memories.
When people are around we say, "I'll see them another time, we have all the time in the world." But one day when they're gone, we lament the missed opportunities, the excuses we made up because we just cannot be bothered.
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