Why, should have.

A dozen 'should haves' and 'whys'.

Why didn't I keep those memories somewhere? Should have made them tangible, should have tucked them someplace safe. And now I can't remember them; afraid of losing the important ones, and yet parts, maybe important parts, are fading already.

The exposure recently, exposure to you, turned me into stone. As if in some form of nonchalant trance, or as if a hex of some kind was put on me. What is it that happens to me when you're around?

-

What is it that happens to me when you're around?

I try to say something
And nothing comes out
What is it that happens to me when you're around?

A broken voice
In a broken door
A broken choice
That I broke some more
A broken me
Am I breaking you?
And if i push you too hard
I push you right through