BURNING MEMORIES

It's been months since you last called. 5? 6? 7? Definitely 7 months. Usually I would have called after about 2 weeks or more of not hearing from you, then listen to you whine about how life is not treating you well as if I wasn't alive too. But no. Not anymore. I have learnt to move on. How not to think of those nights we made love and talked about how we'll make babies later in future. I have stopped re-reading old texts which once had life and fragrance. They had these no more. They were dead now and stank. I finally found courage to delete them as well as your pictures. Deleting your pictures were not at all hard. You weren't a beauty to behold, contrary to what I used to think (love really blinds). I exhaled deeply as I deleted your number from my phone. 
"This is indeed freedom", I said to myself.
Then I remembered my diary. My pretty old dairy. Though it contained memories I would love to keep, I have to burn it. So I put my candle to use and as the flames burned, I knew you burned with it. And when the fire died. You died with it. That was my night of burning memories.

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