Literature
Treasure
You asked me to share my favourite memory today.
I can't because I don't want to. They're all mine, plucked and harvested from shimmering gossamer and silvery tear drops. They're collected an a spider's web, and every strand is carefully woven into them. They hang gracefully like ornaments. If I were to tear out my favourite, it would destroy the entire weave.
Perhaps I'm overreacting. Possibly, it's because I think you're selfish. You're after my memories, coveting them for their very breath and essence. Your finger tips itch and jealousy heightens your emotions, which dampens your clear thought. These are the memories you want to partake