Each fragment of you was shelved beautifully. The good ‘ol memory of us was in my “forever cherished” shelf. The times when things were good—the times when we didn’t give a damn—when it was you and me against the world. Those are the things that I remember on my good days. But when things are bad, I go to the shelf of dark things; things darker than the night. And those were the memories of us fighting; where I hold my grudge against you.
You had me at the point where I would have given the whole world to you. Why didn’t you fight for me like I did for you? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Wasn’t I enough?
So you see, it’s one of those bad days again.
In response to: Shelf