the fruit section at the grocery store

When you smell cherry blossoms, I hope you think of me and the days we spent doing everything and nothing.

When you taste cinnamon and sugar, I hope you remember me and mourn the time that was once our friend and is now the wall between us.

When you feel the softness of a warm blanket wrapped around you, do you think of all the times I saved you and curse yourself for losing me?

Do you remember the quietness of my voice when I last spoke to you? Do you think of the blood curdling screams of abandonment that lay just behind my eyes?

Do you ever see me? In your dreams? Your nightmares? Your conscience? Or is it only in the fruit section at the grocery store when you look at the ground instead of facing the aftermath of your carelessness? Tell me, do you feel any guilt when you see the carcass that you turned me into?