I remember looking at those eyes
then,
and some how that moment was so
complete,
so infinite,
it was a memory in itself.
There was something in those eyes then,
that stopped me dead,
that made me forget the
surroundings,
that created an entire different
world for me to live in.
There was some thing to hold on to,
some thing too difficult to let
go off,
some thing that I did not need to
memorize,
some thing that just froze right
out of the night,
and made itself a memory.
And it is that memory,
that I clung on to,
in times of despair,
in times of uncertainty,
times when I felt alone.
Yet, the memory gives me pain,
its existence the premise of a
false hope,
making me dream again of what
might have been,
waking me up into the contrast
that the reality is.
Everything it stood for ceases to
exist,
the world it created has been
destroyed,
the life it gave me has been
snuffed out,
the memory still lingers on.
