This was originally the introduction to a story I wrote. It's really a short story in it's own right however. A passing reminiscence on a severed bond between two people who've known each other all their lives.
I remember still, the music you used to make for me, the songs with words that formed the landscape of my dreams. I used to hear them playing out until the moment I would wake. The sounds of them still echoed in my ears as I rose from my bed, on some mornings. The words were mine but they were inspired by the things you taught me.
From the words you taught me to read, to sing, and to say, comes the music of my soul. It is the only thing you have ever given me without resentment. I cherish those words even now, long after you are gone, though I no longer mourn your abandonment of me.
I am in your wilderness, at the mercy of your random, wild, amnesia. By degrees, I am being slowly erased along with a past you have blissfully surrendered. You are in my sadness, your shattered image lodged between the ashes of innocence the remaining embers of my ravenous guilt. The monster you fed has devoured what remained of me and now sleeps off its meal. And while you go on with your life, surrounded by others who love you half as much as I do, you think I am gone. Unaware of how I haunt your shadows, a part of the death that awaits you. A part of me is there already, waiting for you to join me.
Herein lies a banquet of ghosts, a feast of sorrow. Set down at each place is the meat of our past and future sins, glazed by the sweetness of remorseful nostalgia. Together we lift a glass of our own lifeblood and drink to our death.