I don’t dare breathe. You’ve made it impossible. I don’t dare face the day. I know it’s not the same as it was. You do too but you’re happier and all I’m left with is the memory of what always felt real but right now feels fading and distant. I don’t dare breathe because there’s this ache in my chest; and it’s not longing, it’s not wanting or desire, it’s nothing but a cruel, screaming pain. I don’t regret any of it because I know I have loved you completely. I still do, I still do and it’s breaking me down daily and I’ve been feeling so alone and unable to get up, act normal, be myself. I never knew who I was and I was content with not knowing until you made me want to know. And I came to know some parts, missed others, but you made it possible for me to listen, be attentive, stay bravely in search. And this process involved both of us in a way and I felt alive; so deeply, unreservedly, wholly alive. And now there’s this distance. There’s this constant distance and this shattering, tormenting silence. And I don’t dare breathe, I don’t dare move, I don’t dare conceal my present restlessness because I am here. I’m still here. I am here and I can feel you anywhere but here.