Memories, you said.

That’s why it won’t work – because of goddamn memories.

It’s not the memories that won’t make it work

it’s the action of forming new ones which i won’t let myself

i don’t want any new stories with you

i want the last chapter

i want to close this book i’ve grown sick of reading over and over again

because of the single feeling of having overlooked something

something which could help me see you in another, better light

a light, which hides your faults in its shadows

a light, which shows me you’re not all bad

a light, to show me my way back to you

but the only light down here is the fire in my heart

you try to get down by letting my tears flow

the problem is, my tears are methylated spirit

everything you could do makes me burn

brighter, louder, warmer

so you take a few steps back

afraid of what you’ve done

to yourself

and your hopes

and you try to use my fire to light your candles

but all i do is recognize it for my own

i don’t see you anymore

not your shadows, nor your light

my eyes towards the sun

my eyes towards the spring