Thought.is

There is one memory that I cannot forget and it is the way you kept your shoes on the first time you came to say goodbye.

Somehow it is always Sunday morning. Somehow, April turned to June and you became a distant memory, replaced with better habits and a boy with warm eyes.

I read somewhere that your skin replaces itself every seven years – that who I am now is not who I was seven years ago; that one day, I will have a body you will have never touched.