They tell me that you can't catch a memory, not for your life. Yet here are a great deal of memories standing infront of me, personified into a handsome boy I've loved for far too long. How couldn't I catch my dearest memories when they're so close that it is all I can do to fling my arms around them, to never let go.
They tell me that the most agile and strong of us never can keep the memories they catch. not for your death. But here they are, between my clasp, so close that my lips brush against them.
They tell me that the weakest memories will fight and push you away, but I must have chosen a strong one. He held me back and listened to me whisper and cry and poke butterfly kisses on his shoulder.
Screw what those sucks told me, my memories are right here.