I stay awake at night.
I hear the inchoate sound of steps made by the ambling memories. Their haziness is stale but I love them. I love every single memory we made. I’m scouring my mind, leaving every scanty piece of you just so I could have something to start with before I complete the puzzles of the section of my mind where “everything I love” is written. You belong with the poems I’ve read, those which are written by Fitzgeralds and Plath and Murakami. You belong with the places I took a photo of. You belong with every good and bad thing I love. And as I put the last piece of the puzzle, I smile. I smile because I see how perfectly you fit into everything I love. The truth is, you don’t belong. You simply make.
Time passes and flecks are starting to form in my puzzle. The dust that each day brings mars your image. It obstructs our memories. I am afraid. I don’t want memories to turn into mists. You know how hard it is for me to recognize. I don’t recognize dates and faces and streets and names and moments. I either leave them or take them with me. I took everything of you even those which hurt me. What if they all turn to strange things?
I stay awake at night. I hope I can do this forever. This is my only way of keeping your image clear. This is the only way because you don’t try to make memories with me anymore. You just said it’s enough.