Until I reach the sea floor; scattered and strewn with my memories of you.
The floor beneath the Sea of Memory.
"How messy...", I think.
How will I ever find that memory of you?
That moment of bliss that you shared with me?
So I search on my knees as I dig through the dirt.
Through the memories of hell in the form of clumps.
Of **** and grime.
Of dust and filth.
In the form of all the pain that you caused me when you left.
Encompassed by the sea,
I can still feel the tears rolling down my face.
Becoming a part of the Sea of Memory.
And the search goes on.
Suffering from starvation.
Fueled by your negation
Of our love.
The clouds of dust that I've created,
The product of my search,
Of my own aberration,
Bury me in the soil beneath the sea.
The Sea of Memory.
Does the form that our memories take in our minds seem a little unorganized to you?
And how we search endlessly, sometimes, for the memories that we cherish the most?
— The End —