I don't feel the pain anymore when I think about you, it has long since faded in to a dull throb. The wounds that used to bleed heavily whenever you are near, have healed leaving only a pale scar. The face that I believed will never forget, only appears vaguely in my dreams and the voice that used to thrill me is lost in the echo of the crowd.
Everything else is gone except for the red thread that you tied on my finger, the one you called fate. On days like this when the thread is no more red after being washed in torrent rains, I cut myself open and paint it red.
