The colour is engraved in my mind.
The sex is engraved in my senses.
What we
saw, what we
said, what we
experienced
is still there.
The music that
played, the shows we
saw, the nights we went home alone because everyone left
without us,

These are the days
that we will always remember, but
we forget how much they hurt.

We
forget,
remembering the romantic version of experience,
it didn’t feel like this at the time.

It is a place where
Art
is born, and maybe
our memories hold the only truth, because who are we to argue with art?