Remnants

Remnants.

I am still haunted by the remnants of our memories,

infested by their dusts latching on to my skin,

and blemished by the scabs and scars of my old wounds.

I have been refusing to remember you,

but your image is a fact hidden in my subconscious,

and a glaring truth in my dreams at night.

And now I have to face the remnants,

the pieces of what used to be and will never be,

wisps of the smoke of joys and sorrows,

and a speck of what once was a true love.

Remnants, which I am glad that just are,

for I know that soon,

these dusts will be blown away,
the scars will solely be patches that'll add to my beauty,

and the memories will fade like colors in photographs.

I am sure that soon,
my heart will be again clean and new

for a kind of love that will stay whole forever.