Exist in Memory

The cafe downstairs is playing that song again. The one we used to sing along to on road trips. The melody now twists a knife in my already wounded heart.

Everywhere I look, I see you. The worn leather of your armchair still holds the ghost of your warmth. You used to sit here, you know? It's your favorite spot. Always claimed it had the best view of the street. Though I think you just liked the way the afternoon sun slanted in, warming the worn leather.

Every corner now whispers your name. That chipped mug on the counter is the one you always used for your tea. The way the sunlight catches the dust motes dancing in the air, just like they used to dance in your eyes when you smiled.

The day you left me as you mumbled an apology before disappearing into the pouring rain. I remember how your eyes held an unfamiliar sadness.

I keep asking myself the same questions: Do I still miss you? Do I still love you? The answers are always the same. Yes, I miss you desperately. And yes, I love you with love that refuses to die.

But what good is love when it only brings pain? What good is love that only exists in memory?

I sink to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. Wonder if I'll ever learn to live again in a world without you. And so I wait for the tide to recede. It's a cruel irony. This love keeps me tethered to the shore where my heart will forever remain shipwrecked.

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