When I think of you

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet.

I choose to remember the good times we shared, before everything fell apart.

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet.

I remember the time when I believed you could make me happy, before that illusion shattered before my eyes.

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet.

I remember the life I worked so hard to build with you, while you callously destroyed any life I had outside of you.

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet.

I remember how I'd share with you every emotion I felt, before you learned how to twist each and every one, and use them against me.

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet.

I remember how I told you I loved you, before you turned my words into a weapon, exploiting my love to convince me to stay.

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet.

I remember the way you held me, before your grip became so tight it left me marked.

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet.

I remember the taste of you, before it was replaced by the taste of my own blood and tears.

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet.

I remember the faith I had in us, before I lost all faith in anything at all.

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet.

I remember how eventually even my memories became unsafe, unstable, and completely controlled by your narrative.

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet.

I remember all the times I'd remind myself that even flowers have to grow through the dirt. I clung to this sentiment, thinking if it was true, maybe we could be saved.

I may have been wrong about us, but the sentiment itself proved true enough.

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet, much like the fruit from the pear tree I planted over where you now lay.

You didn't even see it coming. Just as you fooled me into loving you, I fooled you into thinking you had control.

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet.

I remember how I finally decided to choose me, while I let you continue to believe that I'd always choose you.

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet.

I remember how carefully I planned my escape, in the only way I knew I could be rid of you forever. And you, so vain, and always so sure of yourself, fell right into my scheme.

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet.

I remember that look of revelation, so striking on a face like yours, as you finally understood what I meant to do. You were too late.

I'm certain that someday you'll be found, and maybe then they will come for me, but I'm not afraid. There's nothing and no one left to fear, now that you aren't here.

Maybe they'll see the truth, that I did you a favor. With how rotten you were in life, I half expected nothing to grow from the ground you lie in. I buried you, picturing the future of the plot where I'd turned up the dirt to lay you down, remaining that way forever. No foliage, no grass, no flowers, no trees. How could anything I tried to plant grow in soil polluted by such a filthy soul?

But sure enough, after years of coming back to the woods to visit you, tending to your grave, the tree came to life and began producing its delectable fruit, and for once in your life you can give something sweet with no strings attached.

When I think of you, the memory tastes sweet.

I thought your love would be sweet. My revenge was sweeter.