It's like they've been waiting for the quiet of the night, the stillness that allows the past to creep in uninvited.

I sit in the dim glow of a solitary lamp, drowning in the silence that echoes with what used to be. It's not the big moments that haunt;

it's the small little details, the fragments of time that whisper in the shadows.

The way a song dances through the air, carrying the weight of laughter that no longer fills the room. How the scent of rain triggers a flood of faces and voices, long gone but vividly alive in the recesses of my mind.

It's funny how a scent or a familiar song can be a trigger, catapulting me back to moments that now exist only in the album of my mind.

The tears don't come with a warning. They don't RSVP; they just show up, uninvited guests at the party of my loneliness.

A silent film replays, capturing fragments of joy and sorrow in a loop.

I blink, trying to erase the scenes, but the projector in my mind is relentless.

Regret, like an old companion, takes a seat beside me. It wears the cloak of missed chances and unsaid words.

I can almost touch the "what ifs" that hang in the air, tangible in their intangibility.

The weight of unfulfilled promises, the ache of unspoken apologies — they all find their way to the surface, tracing silent paths down my face.

Oh, the stories of 'forever' that I've heard, that I've dreamed, that I've thought of, that I've suffered from.

Maybe 'forever' was never real, maybe 'forever' was made just for the memories and not the people, maybe 'forever' meant my memories which are flowing down my face and creating an ocean around me, maybe 'forever' was my dream, the dream I knew would never come true...maybe, just maybe, 'forever' meant the little bird trapped inside my cage of illusions.

There's an ache that comes with the joy of reminiscing, a bittersweet pang that clenches my chest. It's the realization that those moments are forever confined to the past, and the people who painted my world with hues of happiness are now mere echoes in the corridors of my memory.

And so, when those memories decide to escape, they choose the express route – through my eyes.

It's as if my tears carry the weight of every laugh and every shared secret. They roll down my cheeks like silent messengers of the pain that lingers in the recesses of my heart.

It's a peculiar waltz between holding on and letting go, between cherishing the past and facing the starkness of the present.

The tears become a tribute to what once was, a testament to the beauty that time has stolen.

So, there I am, caught in the rainfall of my own memories, hoping that the storm will cleanse the ache and leave me with a clearer sky.

Yet, as each drop falls, I realize that sometimes, memories don't just sneak out; they flood, leaving trails of longing in their wake...