Come Back To Me

My story is not my own, it's ours.

Mine and Vaughan's. 

Except I can't remember it.

Or him.

I only know who I was before, and when remembering proved to be too much, I moved on and started over.



And then the dreams started.

Vivid, and bold, filled with a face I didn't know.

But he was always there. 

In my head. In my heart.

And when I decided to put pen to paper, I found him whispering, "Come back to me." 



Some stories are meant to be rewritten.

Others are meant to be relived.