It’s hard to believe that I miss him. The last looks he gifted me have become haunting, as if I was the one that had inflicted the initial hurt, as if I was the cause of the situation that had become. Has he become a lost love unrealized? I yearn for the short times that were good, foolishly accepting that the far and in between would have to be enough – enough because it was more than I had ever had. It is greedy of me to expect more of what he seems to be incapable of giving.

Am I to forget the arc my body made to his whenever he was near? The flicker of heat that passed from his eyes to mine at the quaintest stare, am I to ignore the liquid that became my mind in anticipation of his touch? Now I only remember the emptiness of before, it’s settled back upon me. Nothingness has never been new to me. The pain has seeped from my palms at the slowest trickle and only felt when lost almost love has been mentioned. It is as it never was … at all.