(no subject)

[missdivastar]

there are these little intracacies, in the back of my brain;
things i should not remember:
the slight of your wrist, the grace of every little thing,
you ever touched.
Another bout of pain, rips through me as i line them up,
these tiny, tedious little memories
one by one, by one, by one, by one
and realize how alone, i actually am.