|| A puddle simply cannot hold our love. |
' All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was. ' -Tori Morrison. What does it mean? Water goes everywhere, does it not? Or does water stay, residing where it was born? Do memories travel with us? Or is a part of it in that water we made? I ask myself this, every single day. When I got that knock at the door, when I saw that badge, I knew what happened. I went out, found the perfect dress; ebony, what a classic. A veil I wore, the isolation I felt. Did I attend a social gathering, after that first year? I didn't dare. My mind went straight back to water. The water we spent near our entire lives, in case you decided to creep back there. I kneeled beside that greenish blue body, my reflection only contained an old, mournful soul. I could've sworn, from the corner of my eye, I saw a piece of hair, in the cloud of the sky. Am I crazy? Am I mad? Or were you all I really had? Because memory, needs water. And water, holds memory. The next year, I tried a puddle when it rained. I simply felt nothing, you weren't there. Our love, our bond, it was so strong, that how could I? How could I indulge, in just a mere puddle? When that green blue, could barely hold just you? An ocean, the Atlantic would do. It has enough room of love, for just me and you. |