Q U I C K S A N D

My memories of us play tricks on me.

They cling onto me when I need to let go.

And I cling to them, when I am let gone of.

They grip me like a nightmare that I cannot snap out of.

And I latch onto them because I have not found better solace.

But my feisty self wants to conquer. And conquer I do, sometimes.

I keep them at bay, just how you did me, on several days.

Now, I feel powerful.

Now, I have survived.  

All hail the Queen!

But then,

a mere symphony, a phrase, a number, a condiment –

Abduct me

from an ordinary day.

And rush me into remembering you,

make me forget my conquering.

Quicksand.

Again,

I am

brought down on my knees,

to kneel before our memories.

My heart is yet again hijacked to

the smell of your skin, the sound of your laughter,

and the sensory pleasures that my body lusts after.

Well,

You live now, and I exist in this loop.

You’re you and them now, and I’m still only us.

You’re free now, and I’m still whirling.

God save the Queen!