I taste the happiness on my lips. Lapping over the wound with my tongue to taste the salt; to remember it. It’s all the simple things like the way the someone’s hand looks to the sound of wind whistling through an abandoned house. Remember that feeling? Where a perfect moment could cause my ribcage to ache from it bursting out it’s seams. That I could capture something so beautiful that could never repeat. The feeling of love and power that circulates in your veins like poison. Nothing will ever compare.