his absence is unbearable, his presence deeply missed. while i watch one of the joys of my life slowly slip so far away from my hand, i can't help but notice how the inevitable loss of those dear to you has become more or less of a pattern that textures my life. the questions that hunt me on a daily basis become "why am i back? why are they gone?", leaving me inescapably with deep regretful longing and a sense of deprivation. i do not feel at home in the warmth of my house. the streets that i knew by heart, like the scaly back of my hand, are strange to me. and everywhere i look, i see the faces of those who left me, those i left in some godforsaken place where i picked happiness amongst the drying flowers, the drop of rains, the whooshing race cars, and the pushy strangers. even the simplest idea that I may not experience those pleasures again, that i may not find these people again and worse of all that i could be stuck here, in the same place with no possibility to move, to travel, has basically sent me into a dismal place from which no escape has proven effective yet.
and then she said: i am not fighting for you anymore.
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