Memories bleed with perfect timing.
Just when you think that you’re free from the bitterness, just when you think you’ve moved on, along comes a seemingly insignificant moment that sparks bloody memories to rage anew. And with the rage comes deep nostalgia, the kind that rips apart the mask of blissful satisfaction, painting vivid hues of blue, red, and the darkest of black.
You rage with these memories. Your cheeks hungrily drink the unheeded tears flowing as your heart is crushed by the cold hands of your faith. You seek redemption, yet not even knowing what it is. You seek the light, yet it seems a flicker in the furious storm of your being. All you’ll find is yourself curled up in this dark corner, silently screaming as despair eats whatever sanity remains. Screaming and begging and crying as tortured eyes look for death.
Then, just as suddenly, it passes. You’re left vaguely thinking that you dreamt it all. You awake, as if from deep sleep, to find yourself in a crowded coffee shop with your heartbeat trebling and your breath coming in gasps. Yes, it must have been a dream. As you sat there staring into space while storms raged inside, all around you life went on. Coffee was served; friends shared secrets; politicians schemed; the ice caps melted; and your cigarette is dead.
Memories bleed with perfect timing…drink its blood, I say, and be satisfied.

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