Friday

The stars are still far too closed to each other.

The nights are still too cold to want and let go memories. And I'm thinking that if I am to be given a chance to go back, you know, travel back in time, I will never choose the day that I lost you. Maybe the day before that, when we talked over the phone, or the Christmas before that and you gave me little Candy. I told you three times that only girls with baby hair were allowed to play dolls like that, and you smiled and I swear I could have memorized your eyes if only I wasn't too busy running away from everything.

No, I cannot remember your eyes.
I cannot remember anything anymore. But I can't let go of you.