3.30 AM

I don’t remember the colour of your eyes if you had freckles or hair. I don’t have the memory to be able to chant your name among the ghosts. I kept burying you until I lost you, and you became a feather falling into the empty room, and I haven't decided if I want to dig up your sarcophagus with blood and nails.

Nor I’m accepting that your wounds came with a warning that would be leaving me defeated by different corners, I won’t be available to accept that there was reason in the burning of your words and letters. 

It's that I'm crying at three-thirty every day because God I don't remember your smile, I don't know your name, I don't know how we met and God I'm drowning, I'm dying. Because not you, I was never willing to lose you. You were my eternal and my love. Yet, I buried you, I left you flowers and I left in a zig-zag to never see you again.

But ... the unfortunate thing is that I want. I want to know the taste of your smile on my neck, the way you called me silly and our good night. I want every rose petal with thorns returned, I want to have you in my arms one last time. However, in the spill of my pain, I was losing you and yielding to my forgetfulness.

TA.