"I came from the abandoned corner of your world, from the furthest point with police-line and dusty boxes placed at each of your side. I stored most of your writings written in a decade. I kept your secret, your blemishes of feelings, your broken friendship, your destroyed love."
There are details floating everywhere, the sound, the smell, the moving images in my head. All fragments sync in clarity. Those feeling grown over times stay the same, nothing ever brutally changed. Such an ache-cellent pain, crafted, beautifully sewn. I wonder how do I survive days with a knive stabbed inside?
I almost forget how mystical memory works.