I have accepted that I am a memory.
And as a memory, I will no longer physically enter your life. Every gentle touch I graced you with will slowly fade into a simple remembrance of lust. Every picturesque moment of me dragging my fingers across your skin, softly kissing your neck, and whispering secrets to you in the isolated presence of our scars. All of this will be but a flash of the past, a dream that will soon become so faint you will be taunted with the idea of a nightmare.
However, be careful, for this is not a photo you can keep. This is not a book that I will allow you to store on a shelf, only to eventually forget about. I will continue to allow this memory to form it’s rightful infection.
I am but a memory, but you will always remember me.