Memories don’t fade as time passes; they lose their lustre. Colour fades, sound muffles, air feels like it’s full of cotton. At least that’s how movies portray memory over time. My memories followed suit.
She was young, wild, and free. She brought out a side of me I had never known existed. I can see her, grey, in sepia shorts and sandals. The chocolate she feeds me tastes like cardboard and looks like lumpy gravy. Her touch on my cheek, lifeless, and cold lips lightly touch mine.
I’ve watched these scenes too much, worn them out. Drained them of meaning.
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