My memories of you,
tend to fade to grey.
Your face is just a mere smudge,
and I like it that way.
Your voice is a crackle
in my mind,
like a thin branch,
snapping,
snapping like the moment,
the moment I was finally free.
Free of the hate.
The anger.
The pain.
I've burnt the photographs
and now
I barely remember you name.