Word Vomit

Reminders

I found a box of our old memories – lying on the floor with a bag of used tissues, scribbled notes and a hefty amount of dust.

The reminder that "we" actually happened had long been forgotten along with the bits of scraps I'd like to call my "sentiments".

Noticing the amount of dust that came with it proved to be an affirmation to my argument: I almost forgot you.

Without sparing a second thought, I went through the items inside the worn-out container – a part of me hoping I'd actually find something worth something.

Letters. Photos. A few dry petals.

I scoffed.

How cliché of you (and of me for actually keeping them).

I remember how I thought I'd keep these bits and pieces of you for us to reminisce together when we're wrinkly and tired.

Candy wrappers. Receipts. More photos.

One in particular stood out the most.

A picture of you kissing my cheek and me having a not-so-cute-but-genuine smile.

Weird.

I swore to myself that the next time I'd see this photo, it would be bigger, hanged above the television of our living room.

Damn.

We really planned a lot. Growing old together. A house. A future.

Funny how those plans are now just mere memories. Regretful ones.