I was a young man then, still but the years were never kind to this face. A memory, no more than just a reflection to the window panes of his mind. Rain tapped at that window at times, reminding me that my memory is fading. Yet the memories of who you used to be return, I don't think out of love but a warning. Each one having it's own dull ache that never seemed to disappear "ghost pains." I guess that's all you could ever be, a phantom to my nightmares of youth. "How did we ever get this way? How did this happen?" Questions asked, and simple answers given. You got greedy, you thought that the world owed you something, you chose not to care, and you took without remorse. Words couldn't explain the pain you inflected or continued to inflect even after the goodbyes said, even then it was bittersweet. Not how one should end things, but as I waited. The more I hated and despised what you became, and hated how I was nothing.
© theillusivewriter