But there is nothing as humanizing as the past.
As the lowercase D slips down the alphabet, plummeting into its fitting place behind everything you believed in, doubts and insecurities mutate into their hideous, malicious forms, engulfing you. Your love for tranquil nights was replaced by her fervor for the neon lights and bright beams – you began to enjoy the glitz and the glam; and only when she left did you realize she was the only light you have ever seen. You grew accustomed to her messy hair strands in the shower, her slurred words in the night, her flimsy embraces.
But she grew sober, too sober for your liking, to see through your thoughts, your intentions, your desires. You began to feel conscious – patching up your flaws, hiding shared bottles of liquor, pulling down your sleeves. Her scars on her wrists disappeared, forgetting the ones growing on your heart; her nights filled with other people, yours filled with the serene ambiance you once desired – and you turned your loneliness into words; when she can’t fill up your nights, you chose to fill up pages of fading emotions.
As she left, you are rendered a mess with burnt up photographs and crumbled up notes, the remnants of your love, fragments of your history, spilled emotions and booze.