Peanut Butter Bliss

I only know that your face, the sound of your voice, will never diminish for me.
I refuse to give you up.

There are people like that, after all - individuals who resist the current, who hold out against that betrayal. Who refuse to take their small bouquet of mis-remembered moments and leave.
You'll run into them at the supermarket, or while waiting in line at the cinema, and they'll say, "I had an acquaintance many years ago," or "I once knew someone who I cared for very much who also loved oranges," and suddenly, standing there waiting to pay the cashier, or clutching your movie ticket, you can see them leaning into the current's pull, hear the rocks of the riverbed clattering like bones.

Sometimes we do the right thing - the only thing - and be hated for it. Inevitably.
Even justly. (Perspective?)