Sometimes I think about you. Through a view from a train, a line from a book or a song from a movie.
Fleeting, and for a mere second, my heart would melt.
How you softly kissed my cheek, I would inhale and swear that I could still smell the scent of your skin on mine. How I used to watch you sleep, with great disbelief on how incredibly lucky I was for having you in my life.
Whilst most of the time, I would get scared. Of losing such memories of you— both the good and bad. I would then simply close my eyes, and find you, right there.
Carved, into my broken soul.
Every time, I would die a thousand excruciating deaths. And each and every time — her touch would painstakingly lead me, to where I think I am supposed to be.