I miss you only when I’m lonely, so surely this is not love. Your warmth is no longer something I can easily remember. The memory of your voice fades but your face doesn’t. Am I shallow to be enchanted by a good lock, still encapsulated by a touch of childhood’s purity? Or am I shallow for desiring someone’s presence when my heart don’t particularly beat for them consistently?
You left the house when you were eighteen. Contrary to what you’d previously believed, the sky was so bright it hurt your eyes. It was as if the world was celebrating while your heart broke into pieces you had no time to collect.
Take my hand and leave the deafening world. Get rid of people. Get rid of love. Get rid of the burdens stripping away the last bit of kindness you still have.
My own world — your new home — has no place for either things. We are the only people left. There is no need for love when I plan to let go of your hand just as quickly as you take it. My company is only to pass the gate. From here on, your life is yours to live. I have no need of you. You certainly have no need of me.