The Song A song, the spite, the most found or the most dead of all thoughts. A loaded gun has nothing on you at the moment. Flash, the past is the present engulfing you in the moment. Your mind grabs you, pulling you in, making you remember. You feel the melody move you into another time, time that you want to keep, time where things were good, a time where you had everything and nothing at all. The bridge, crossing you between worlds. The last chorus, taking your last breath from you. The time is running out into the distance and you're trying to hold it as if it were a child. When the song fades so does the memory. Reality pulling you back into the present. Drifting off like nothing ever happened, like it didn't even matter. It couldn't matter. It's gone.
