Bad timing

And endlessly fighting our memories.
Searching for bad times.
I remember the bad times, they were there.
But have I lost them?
Did you take them all, leaving me
with nothing but the good memories.
The sweet ones. The ones that keep me going.
The ones that keep me crying.
The sound of the crashing on my pillow deafens me.
Those good memories, of candles, of hidden chocolate.

And then the morning light lit up the room,
softly, as if in contrast to the harsh words,
the cold, the crashing.
I was alone. I have been the whole night.
I am still.
But I am not asleep. Sleep doesn't make sense
without you.
Neither does waking up.
Especially not to a bad dream,
one filled with good memories.

Good is overrated. And bad timing makes it bad.