And to think. I've just thrown you away like an empty bag. But you're still full! How did I miss even the crumbs waiting in your shiny recesses, your crumpled volume? Every bit you have to offer, its better than the alternative. Wishing. And longing or whatever. I'm not proud. Its wasn't the glittering independent moment I thought it would be. Because you're still full and because I've just thrown you away.