And this is when they’re the best: memories.
While they’re still potent, when you can still feel them riveting underneath your skin, taste them in the corners of your mouth.
The potency of a memory, close to ecstasy, a stretch of muscles away from the reality. Time being the only adversary, your only adversary, but still you remain drifting,
Barely conscious, through the ‘present’
A bad dream you hope will surpass, so you overdose on your memories,
You choke on their bitterness,
You revel in the sweetness,
You purge them up and continue within an ongoing semblance of your memories.
Living within the past, running from the future.
Content with the illusion, once a reality, you drown yourself in.
It’s what keeps the flame beneath your dull eyelids flickering, so you’re able to keep your inconspicuous façade.
It’s what makes you seem more like them: more human.