Maybe in another life,
that was the deal.
A silent plea for the love we once shared to blossom and grow,
a flower swaying in the breeze.

Maybe in another life, yes.
But all we have is this one.
A life so meaningless it seems silly to keep on with the childish dreams of redemption.

So the flowers in my garden will continue to grow,
Without the help of your watering.
No matter how badly I desire the help.

I will always keep my promises to you.
No matter how far, or how wide, they will always remain.
Maybe this makes me selfish, to hold onto a part of you that you do not even hold.
Maybe it doesn’t, i’m not sure.
But i do miss you, and i will always miss you.
A part of me separated by time and memories lost.

I hope you’re well, although i don’t think you wish the same for me.

I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for the bite in my words.
I’m sorry for the bile that rises in my throat.
I’m sorry for the tone of my voice.
I’m sorry that this may be all that I am.

When I said my final goodbye,
it was an act of mercy for myself.

So why does mercy still feel like mourning.

I am walking through my days with a heart that refuses to beat for anything.
hunger without an appetite,
thirst without a mouth,
words without a voice.

An empty case of what was.