0607

It's gone. It's funny how just simple digits express such meaning in our lives. Just think about 867-5309, boom you thought of Jenny. Or maybe 007, bam you're a spy that gets hot women. So for me one of those numbers was 0607. Those four little numbers that reminded me of her every time I had checked a bank statement. At one point in time that password had been a source of comfort, that extra little memory that would be such a pleasant thought in my day. But then she left, but the numbers were still there. Maybe there was always the small hope that the memories would be the good ones, but even mixed between there was the pain. Recently it was just a stupid pain. Why would I even want to remember those numbers? For now it's gone. The reminder is missing, but the number will always hold a meaning. Part of me wonders why I didn't delete them sooner, change the password immediately. But lingering in the background is the wish that they never had to be changed.