Buried Alive

You had this jar. It contained every memory we ever had, and every once in a while you would open it and take a peek. One day you got tired of that jar taking up space and you got tired of the memories that it held. I was dead to you. You buried me along with the jar. But I am not a resting place for forgotten kisses. You can’t place them in a grave with me and hope that a couple layers of dirt and hate will cover us. You can’t pretend like you don’t hear me calling out your name, begging to be unearthed. You might not want to remember, but that’s okay. I have a good enough memory for the both of us.