I remember looking at those eyes then,
and some how that moment was so complete,
it was a memory in itself.
There was something in those eyes then,
that stopped me dead,
that made me forget the surroundings,
that created an entire different world for me to live in.
There was some thing to hold on to,
some thing too difficult to let go off,
some thing that I did not need to memorize,
some thing that just froze right out of the night,
and made itself a memory.
And it is that memory,
that I clung on to,
in times of despair,
in times of uncertainty,
times when I felt alone.
Yet, the memory gives me pain,
its existence the premise of a false hope,
making me dream again of what might have been,
waking me up into the contrast that the reality is.
Everything it stood for ceases to exist,
the world it created has been destroyed,
the life it gave me has been snuffed out,
the memory still lingers on.