Sometimes I talk to you.
Sometimes I remember us.
But most of the time, the memory is at the back of my mind.
And I can finally have that clarity.
And feel absolute indifference.
But those rare times, the memory moves forward.
And that clarity is obscure.
YOU ARE READING
The First
Short Story"I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say." ~Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca You were the first one. And no matter how hard I try, I can never forget.
