A
day
when I
think again
of you, is a day
when I search my
threadbare heart for
just one memory of our
times together on those
wonderful lavender days
before those solemn
talks of "honesty"
when you
left me
with only a tear and a broken hope
On such days, I see your face lit by sunshine
while I see my face reflected the growing puddle of dispair
There is a curse that seems to come with ambivalent and juxtaposed memories which tends to split and facet recollections. Accuracy becomes undependable.
(I'm just guessing).