Lost Memories
we buried them in a time capsule, said we'd find them again when we were older, said we'd never be apart and always stick together, then someone built a cement wall of guilt, betrayal, tears and blood; as if it would stop us, you and i were never the type to give up
Prologue
He remembers the rain. It was night and he had gotten out of bed to get a drink.
Peeking through the crack of his bedroom door, he had found his mother sat in the living room. All the lights were off.
She was black and hunched over, figure racking with movements he could not hear through the howls and roars of thunder. She didn't say anything when he stood in front of her, lightning flashes illuminating their silhouettes on and off. "Mistake" was the only muffled word he could make out in between the flashes of light and sound, the glimpses of messy gold, face hidden by hands and hair.
"Mistake? What mistake?" He had asked, prodding, not realizing that the thunderstorm likely drowned his small voice out. Only a wail answered him, her hiccups and sobs muted in the background. She had been crying. Why was she crying? He wanted to know, wanted her to stop, and said as much to no avail. Her wails only grew in return. Reaching out a hand, he lightly patted her head, a poor copy of his father's habit but it was enough to get her to look up. Her tear streaked face is not clear in his memories, but still he remembers her small smile. At least, he thinks it was a smile.