a year full of life

real or fake?

mem·o·ry /ˈmem(ə)rē/
noun
something remembered from the past; a recollection

i've spent these last few days trying to figure out what in my head was real and what was fake, it's hard to tell when the truths hurts too much and the lies are just there to make me feel alright.

i remember the day i broke your heart, i spent hours stitching it back together with my black threads of guilt [i wish they could've been red, maybe then you could've moved on] while you sat at the mercy of my fingertips, trembling at my touch - salty tears burning your already vulnerable wounds [real or fake? it's got to be real, i deserve these deep piercing seeds of guilt planted deep within my chest].

i remember your sweet smile the day after i broke your heart, when i asked you if you would ever choose to love me again - you told me that 'for you, i'd break my heart a thousand times over' and your lips quirked up ever so slightly, a smile that probably wouldn't have been haunting had you not have been patched up by my guilt only a day prior [real or fake? has to be fake, it's too sweet - you're too sweet, too forgiving].

i remember a week after i broke your heart, you came storming into my apartment with black threads stitched messily along your clavicle [to this day i can't remember - real or fake - if i was the one who did that to you, maybe it happened while i mended your heart? or more probably, you were just a figment of my imagination entirely - along with that black thread that pierces my own skin to match yours] you threw a piece of splotchy paper at me [it looked to be stained with blood and tears], it had four lines written on it which read:
a recipe for disaster,
ingredients include:
you
me
[real or fake? this one doesn't really matter either way - but for my own sanity it was probably real - what does matter though is that i knew we were a recipe for disaster even if this memory was fake]

and finally, i remember the day my muse died [was it you? i'm not quite sure, but that was the same day you stopped coming over so it might as well have been you] it started with a tugging at my wrists [in the same place black threads resided] and ended with a shattering in my heart [there's nothing i could really say to explain that part, maybe it was karma breaking me for what i did to you] and now i no longer see you in my sleep [real or fake? this one was without a doubt fake - it held too much hope, a hope that those who do things that are wrong get some sort of punishment because unfortunately that's never how life seems to work]