Resurfaced Memory: Two A.M I Saw Me

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Does it matter that it’s started to bother me again? If trusting that every new thing discovered from what had gone on before the accident  would be likely to lead me to believe it could run in to that person, then I trusted myself too much. 

From there I had to bite my nails eleven o-clock in the evening–forcing myself to go about ignoring the shaking resonance I’d succumbed to when betiding a file on my computer.

“My Band-Aids…” There, a sheer gasp of intake hit me when piecing together faster than normal why it was called that now. It’s why I clicked of course. Why would a file named my band aid be encrypted?  

So the amount of documents, files and recordings showed. There were screen caps –he’s in sixty percent of these. Scurrying my eyes there and fro, I immediately pause to swallow back what it is at the pit of my stomach and rest these condensing relapses called a genetic migraine.

 As I flinched –I’d finally seen the dates all linking the month of my accident and it completely stiffens me with sadness. “So it’s this guy after all…”

There’s but two options I could live with. Erase them; for my relationship in my head doesn’t even want anything to do with them. However, the fact I see titles of interviews behind the others –I can see this is what I need to remember me.

So stirred , many times over I grow vexed .

As though I click without thinking –I continue to click for the next three hours until the clock shows two am.

Each time I choke back the anger I have at myself for even having the audacity of assuming such an approach. I’d been lyi