The songs of stars under your skin and galaxies in your mind have ended.
Their sharp cheekbones holding in place the pale canvas stretched over them and their brown eyes that light up when the clockwork turns will forever be alive with the smell of fresh bread from the bakery the both of you passed in the crossing next to the temple.
Memories only survive when they are suspended in cold, thick fog, like the times for which they had their sweater on, green wool draped over shoulders and collar bones, thin wrists circled by the two yellow bands on the sleeves, akin the emerald stripes on white socks girdling their curved ankles.
You are the remembrance of your memories, so you need to be careful of what you remember because when the rain at dawn awakens you to the fog outside your window, memories come from fevered night and fevered day and remembrance can’t tell truth from disease.
Whatever you are tries to make sense of it, but sense never was for you. It only springs to your hands when you need to find the second derivative of the function, because maths can either be truth or lie, right or wrong and nothing in between. Life cannot be right or wrong, it cannot be truth or lie, because it is everything in between. You cannot trust life because you must be either right or wrong, truth or lie, and so you are nothing but a solved function, tested, marked and awarded as it is the only thing that is either true or false, the only thing you will allow yourself to be.
Memories only survive in the cold, thick fog, like the times you were certain that they had said they you were good and that you counted, so it couldn’t possibly be untrue even when their eyes moved past you in the crowd and they didn’t see you waving and mouthing their name desperately as you were pulled faster and faster away in the swarms of the incompetent, desperately wishing for them to pull you out.
The songs of stars and galaxies have ended with the decision to not try any harder, because it is quiet in space where memories are transient and you don’t need to matter, anyway.