Sometimes it just comes.

I thought I was getting better, then out of nowhere it hits. The memories of the place we used to share. ....our lazy Sunday afternoons.....our mornings of you driving me to work.

I am told, repeatedly, that the life we shared before was not meant for me...that I was not happy....that it is for the best it ended.....that I am in a much better place now. Is it true?

Sometimes, driving past our old place, I let my mind go in search of the forbidden. I see the corridor, the wooden number plate of our apartment, I see the living room and the skyline beyond the balcony. I see myself watching you walking the dog. Like an ethereal vision, I see myself in my blue dress walking in the kitchen and settling on the grey rocking chair. Why did it happen? Why did it end?