It somehow seems poetic to me that while my brother and his girlfriend are [most likely] getting it on downstairs, the nostalgic sister with her bittersweet memories is doing homework upstairs, with a blanket holding her instead of love.
However, I've decided that my love for Blaze isn't lost. No love is ever lost. Perhaps it's... forgotten. It may never be remembered again. Maybe it'll sit in a box in the lonely corner of my soul, collecting dust. Maybe I'll look through the scrapbook sitting on top of the book, but I'll never look into the box again. No, if the love in that box wants to be remembered, it'll have to be opened by someone else.