Maybe the “us, back together” will always remain a mere product of mental invention, and our memories remain a history. Maybe we’re just a lesson and an experience of the past, and the piece of you that I held for so long, is a fragment of my heart. The taste of your lips, the smell of your skin and breath are just stains living on my veins. The warmth of your touch and body on mine and your breath on my neck are slumbering underneath of my bed where I could only search them, and the only way to hear you, is to listen to the sound of your voice reverberating in my head. Maybe the “our existence” is now just an old image of four seasons, most especially, the raining season, where we have so many memories that couldn’t replace with anything. Maybe I need to stop breathing you, because there’s nothing I could breathe in, instead of the painful repetition that suffocating me, but I knew I couldn’t breathe you out, however, maybe I need the “us back together” to sleep forever with the anticipation of them not waking up. Maybe “us” is really now just behind the present, and probably, has no existence in the future like a history never repeats itself. Maybe I’m the one who needs to wake up and not the “us, back together” because it is just a figment of my imagination.