Memories are all I have of a beautiful beginning of love and of wounds of ugly pain in all endings.
If it wasn't for my little boy, I would've entertained the idea of going through a procedure to erase a part of my memory that involves his father. Yes, I just watched "Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind" this afternoon. And I'm still not done torturing myself by watching romantic and crazy films almost every freaking day. Somehow I need to believe that some stories aren't real and that love is mostly impossible.
I must believe. That's all I have, aside from rotten memories and a list of movies that make my pain realistic and my aching for true love surreal.
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