The Storm

I buried your memories piece by piece from what I can let go from time to time until all that was left was dirt on my hands, but even then I can’t seem to wash you away. I could rub off the colour of my skin but not you underneath my fingernails from when I buried them in your skin as I screamed for your name.
You were the storm and I was hoping you’d let me see the sun in your darkness but now I’m burning all that we were along with unread letters I’ve sent to you even when I can write them all over again and word by word -after all, all I’ve ever known is to run after you, and I’m afraid that maybe, I will always do.