Ironically I forgot.
I forgot the memories and the laughs. I forgot the flip flops and the vineyards.
Everything slipped away like I did that summer in missing street.
I don't miss it at all. Not anymore. None of it.
Ironically I hated it.
And now I'd picture it as this beautiful, peaceful place… I thought I would forget.
I would forget that almost never is a sunny day. I would forget how much it rained… I would forget the cold in their actions and the knives in their silence. I would forget how strange it feels to find family in such an unfamiliar place.
Ironically I wasn't the only one who hated or who forgot. I wasn't the only one desperate to run away. It's funny how stories that were never mine would ache so deeply I could be bleeding them.
So I leave the pictures behind… Of this place who haunts a past I do not own. I do feel the scars on my skin even if they're tattooed on some other soul. And that's love. The love she never had. The love none of you could ever learn nor give.
Photo by H. Alegria