I have urges.

Urges I cannot satiate myself.

I remember us in that dim light,

I wish I grabbed that book on that shelf.

That wooden shelf is now where we resided,

categorized by our life and traumas,

by the title and endings of our stories,

beside our little dioramas.

I forgive you for your betrayal,

I forgive you for your death,

You haunt my sleepless nights,

Your name escapes my lips with every breath.