I suppose what I miss the most are the warm summer nights. TV on, a balmy breeze whisking the sheer curtains. A laugh creeping up the basement stairs. I'd smile with it, shake my head and sigh. 

For I am a destroyer. 

When I am content, I grow afraid. Happiness is a foreign concept and is to be scrutinized.

and yet, I romanticize the past.

The folly of forgetting how it felt in the moment. 

Or 

Feeling the moment as if looking through the window into another's life. 

Don't forget the truth.

Don't forget that spring day.

Don't forget his face.