I remember the rain trickling down my cheeks as we stood face to face, meters apart. The library books I had just borrowed were undoubtedly drenched but I could not care less knowing that you were back in town. Why? I never understood why I called that meeting that day. There was always a longing feeling in my gut telling me that I had forgotten to do something back then, causing my heart to shatter hearing your name slip past someone's lips. It began to tear me apart, and I could no longer blame myself for this continuous massacre that brew under the influence of your touch.
I forgot to tell you goodbye. That's what I longed for the most, that's what made me claw my way back to you. and for what? My heart is cold, my world is flat as can be. But I've learned to let go.
It's been months already since we last spoke, and I've slowly picked myself up piece by piece. I even feel as if I can slightly love little parts of myself as if cracked glass is able to be salvaged, which it can be when it comes to art. but to compare myself to art is a joke after you. After you forgot about how supposedly special I was, I'm terribly afraid of you showing up one day and I damn straight won't know what to do with these broken pieces you once called home.
I've been letting go this whole time. I've finally learned my value, and so while the river flows I'm trying my best to go with the current, although it's infuriating, I have beautiful images that stand beside me.
