Memories with you

are more vivid

than those without.

I can recall

a trail trod together

three years ago

as if I visited daily since,

while the wall color of

the apartment I occupied

alone

for the three years prior to

that date

is lost in the old archives.

Sometimes I miss

that shitty box of a place,

With windows on a single side

and mold in the bathroom.

I miss the solitude

and sometimes the freedom.

But those memory files

are corrupted,

they can't especially

be trusted.

They have no context.

What is love

but context?