I guess this is pretty awesome. To have memories piled onto memories. Scenes flashing overlay on top of older scenes. Your hands in the side pockets of your khaki pants. Your long, slender neck with tiny goosebumps that turn red even when you're tan as you are. Your black backpack stuck close to your white t-shirt. A strand of your hair still stuck to my tote bag.(I left it there. I didn't dare to pick it out.)
Piles of piles piled on piles. But the questions are always the same. Always this cold. This nerve-wrecking. This painfully true.
Why?
Why?
Why?
What happened?
It's always these fragments of gestures and actions. It's always your back to mine.
I can't even remember how you look like now.