You know it sucks. It sucks that I remember so much. It sucks that I remember how it felt to love you. How I felt when you said, I love you. It sucks to still love someone, because you can’t stop loving them. Not because you choose to keep that alive but because that’s how you are made. I remember everyone I fell in love with. Every person I’ve touched. Mostly those memories stay in the places I’ve compartmentalized them in. But the fuckers like to sneak out and I’ll be treated to a memory while I’m driving. While I’m talking. While I’m cooking. Some dance across me like light on a pond. Others bring me to my knees. Memory is a gift and a curse. Don’t allow anyone to tell you any different.