i remember what it was like to have the desire to live and to have the goals to want to carry on.
but i also remember what happened there, and on your basement floor and on my closet walls.
my marks are left to prove my existence.
except one only thing that i could think to be learned from all this is how to do it better, and get a more gaining conclusion.
i'm a black butterfly. innocent but always blamed for the darkness. looking sad.
and after i thought about and remembered how much i miss you and after i recalled what we were and what we had,
i realize that i don't remember anything.