Memories

A number, a day, the name of a month, a memory, yes, his memory. You realize that perhaps he cares more than you thought, for a moment you miss his smile, that you liked. You miss his words when something was wrong and his questions when he realized that you was something. But all this isn't because you know that's best and this is that he has decided.

More damage without a why, more lies without end, only to be someone that he wasn't. And after of all there is nothing to do, only there is the distance and you realize that what you lived, although that was short and beautiful, was a big lie.

 

 

(It was a Spanish text, but I have translated it in English with my words.)