A Good Memory Gone Bad

We break off and tell each other whatever

sincerest could come out of us; and I would remember

those lonely April nights when I would find my prayers

reduced to tears

I would wish then that you were a poem that I penned

so that I can call you mine.

In my mind resounds the childish glee as we

ran around in our little world; lines printed in my journal

and old conversations and pinky swears; conspiratorial grins

on wallet photographs; lazy chip-and-soda weekends;

words of comfort, silly promises

Have we become too old for remembrances?

I was still dreaming of chocolates and of our previous mischiefs

when you tore my little fantasy world apart and turned

every dream interval into a haunted montage

of what-had-been and what-could-have-been

We forged hatred and misery at the back of our minds

and turned our little jokes on ourselves

What naughty kids we have been.