Just Memories

They were the warm tears that cool down when they touch the pillow, making a miniature puddle of memories that can only be described as that. They can’t be described as events that could lead into something else because you’re leaving, and without you, there’s nothing else. Nothing else to say, do, make, or plan, just memories. All happy memories, no doubt, but what’s a happy memory compared to a heartbroken now? It doesn’t matter that it’s ending, because everything eventually ends, but it matters, no, it hurts, because we can’t do anything about it. It’s out of our control. We were building up so strongly, only to be shaken down by the seismic force of different lives, you in Virginia, and I in Tennessee. But the vile moon rises all the same, and shines on me, as I lie in a puddle of memories.