Flipping through the pages of our worn out albums, I find that I can't control the tears that I promised I wouldn't cry.

I craddle myself in my own arms with my hands to my head because all the screaming is giving me a headache. I don't think I can go to school tomorrow. I'll just call in sick. I knew that you wouldn't hold me for as long as you said you would. I knew that it would be me, myself, and I that would hold myself together, that I would be the heroine, the 'bad guy,' in this relationship. I would be the one to pick up the broken pieces

of our once perfect
in the street
when it's raining
kissing scene
kind of relationship.

Yeah, just like that.

I said you were perfect. I'm not sure anymore. I hate to give you so much praise when you'll forget me in a year and it will be me that cries myself to sleep. Only me.

All the memories will live through me because you will forget in time. 'Cause time heals all wounds. 'Cause time is the reason why people forget. The tears are fake illusioned lies that bind us together. They aren't real. They never were. Like we never were. They lose themselves in someone else, turning the memories of what you two once were into black ashes framed in forgotten album.

When do memories die?
When people choose to forget.

Not just yet. Not just yet. If I forget, does that mean it never happened? There will be no trace of evidence that we once were if no one remembers.

If we both forget.

It never happened if don't remember. Let's not remember then ... 'cause it never happened. It never happened.

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