Fingertips of memories are stroking the back of my head. Night after night, it keeps pulling me back to you.

You see, wounds will heal but you're a scar; permanently engraved on me. I can never fully cut you off unless I cut a part of myself, too.

I guess that's the hardest truth to accept once you lose someone. The moment they leave, a part of you dies too. And I'm always confused who my heart grieves for, losing you or losing myself.