My Polaroid

I hear that song, and I’m reminded of you. I’ve been told that music is more than a symphony of emotion; it’s actually a Polaroid photograph for your ears. Every song captures memories that we develop in our minds. Isn’t that ironic? I can burn every last picture of you and I, but I can’t burn that song from my mind. I can’t burn it from the radio. The only thing that burns is the tear I won’t let fall, because you don’t deserve it. But as much as I want to forget everything we were, I can’t forget that song. Every strum of that acoustic guitar takes me back to those campfire nights, and I swear I can smell the sweet smoke of pine. If I close my eyes too long, I start to see those clear night skies we’d spend hours running below with only the moonlight to guide us. The drum beat mocks the rhythm of the tide down by the beach. We use to sneak off just to feel the water lapping against our feet in the darkness. Those were my favorite memories. That was my favorite song. You were my favorite hello. But it didn’t matter to you, just like I didn’t matter either. I tell myself I’ve moved on, but I can’t burn that song.


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