An arm around my neck. A gentle pressure on my shoulder. A slight brush of the back of our hands.
Those are only a fraction of the things that you do to me and evidently cause my windpipe to close up—the things that you might consider as nothing, but I consider as everything.
It is not your fault, though. Never your fault. I think it's mine—I am the one who has fallen in too deep and hasn't made any significant effort to come back up.
Love, no matter how abstract its notion is,
is a choice. I was in my right mind when I chose you and I am in my right mind when I say that my choice is still you.
But every choice always has consequences, right?
So I, also have to accept the consequence that an "us" only happens when the time stops and the moment is frozen.
—From me, who has to learn how to say goodbye
