And that, my friend, is what they call closure. To have let go of You,. Whose affection I craved for. Like a lost nomad,. Longing for water in a desert. Every nerve and fibre of my being. Flaring up under your touch;. I miss huddling up into your warmth,. Looking at the stars, viling time away. To have let go of You,. The same rock that once supported me. I miss a lot of what we had. The fire, the need, the spark;.

I find it strange how so many of us choose to drown in alcohol or stain our lungs with smoke at the dawn of a new year, a time of change, when nothing will ever be the same. I think it tells you something about the way we live our lives, how we persevere, how we exist, how we choose to forget, being at the cusp of having nothing to remember.

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