Who Knows the Words that Will Fix It All?

Memories that flock to the sun are just itching to burn away. In a sense, all they want is to feel somewhat appealing, somewhat wanted, always needed. However, they strive so badly to compete for that feeling of affection, that they cannot see, they will not see, they should not see. Or should they?

Should they see to want, see to live, see to love, and see to hate?

They should hate. Hate, they should flock to the sun to burst into their hate, to spread the shards of their hate, to hate the hate in order to be hateful towards those that are hateful and hated. Wish to hate, this hate of sorts. Wish to love instead of loss. Wish to have instead of want. Wish to live instead of burn. Wish to know instead of learn. Wish to forgive instead of.....instead of what...?

Never, never wish to forgive. Forgive no one, not. Forgive me, never.

Memories that burn in flames are alive, alive and wondrous. And oh so deadly, waiting to collide into you. One collision, one small speckle of the flame-dust of memories that touch you will annihilate you, and itself. A suicide of consciousness. A suicide, lost within space. Memories, lost within space.

Memories, lost. Wishes, lost. Hate, lost...?