Scatterbrainy

I don't believe that time heals all wounds.
Everything that happens shapes you, makes you view the world a little different. Alters your perspective.
And I would not want to heal: for better or for worse, every wound is an imprint that lasts forever.

But things change. And suddenly,
I am wakling those same old streets and it isn't unbearable.
Pass by the places we once passed and I have to force myself to think of you.

This city is no longer you. My memories finally untangled, separated.
Yours is a silhouette increasingly fuzzy around the edges; more a scent than the shape of a man.
A fleeting scent that passes just enough for me to smell it.

I remember for a second, but then-
Only the smell of summer.