half a moment

I do not deserve to be remembered, don’t spare your beautiful mind for such frivolous fancies. Yet do not forget me, I do not deserve that honour; let me fade into ghost-memory until you cannot place my name, cannot hear the breathless laughter that cut through apologies like a knife cut through water, cannot taste a single word of the girl who wrote so recklessly. Only spare me half a moment, where you nearly recognize that achingly familiar space in your heart, before you shrug, and shake your head with a puzzled laugh, and acknowledge one last time my weary existence.

T. E. Pyrus

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