Memories have a tendency to stay. The dark ones stay longer. And the ones that you wish you'd never came across with them tend to never leave your body alone, your soul, your vision, and your future.
At every corner of this damn city, there's a memory of you. You are my darkest shadow following me secretly through every alley, and you are the scariest ghost haunting me at every turn.
I remember... When I lost you. The architecture of this binary universe changed and never went back to its original state. Houses became prisons, bodies became machines, and people became animals.
When I'm on the edge of a cliff, same cliff that took us away from each other, I'm starring directly at my future that's precisely thirty one meters and 2.4 seconds away, I'm comfortably numb. Breathing is almost dead. Eyes almost closed. Soul almost off the ground. Your whole life's almost a descending scale. Almost a fine musical piece from the East. Almost done. Almost gone.
I tend to think. Will I be with you in the next 2.4 seconds if I take another step? Gravity says yes! Do you?
That's when the non-scientific part of me tells me that I have already waited so long that time isn't anything but a vague piece of shit unit that is there to remind us of our loss.
All that's left is the last bottle of the eighteen year old Scotch whiskey in your car parked away from the cliff and half loaded gun in the glove compartment.
Do I really want to go back to the car or take a "step forward"?
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