I thought about him again

[PTSD in a nutshell]

I thought about him again, and how it used to be:

Maybe it was a particular, upbeat or slow song.

Maybe it was a certain, distinct smell I found.

I sigh, remembering.

Maybe it was something I romantic I read.

Memories that turn into nightmares

Laughs followed by my tears.

Soon, I'll forget, but my heart won't.

Ever.