Clinging onto memory, is the most of all you can do to reminisce on what's lost.

Losing a part of yourself and the past, that's normal - but clinging onto it, that's the problem. 

Nothing is ever 2 dimensional and black and white. Nothing is ink on paper - nothing is ever simple. 

Memories play back in colours, preludes - all orchestrated into one flowing piece. They're not disjunctive like him and I. They're all beautifully woven and intertwined - something I wish we were but never was. 

But what's destructive about a memory is the fact that mine, his, yours - they're never the same. We can be at the same place, and I know my memory of the moment and his will be different. All those years ago, I now think back to how he saw me then.

Did he love me then? 

Now, years after, I think about how he sees me.

Does he still love me now?