I really hate the nothingness that we became. With confidence I can say that it was your doing and not mine, but that doesn't make it any less abhorrent. Your absence tastes like ash all the same. I'd like to think that your thoughts turn to me as often as mine turn to you, but more than likely you give hardly a brush of me. That's alright though, I'd be terrified if someone like me started digging around in my heart and asking questions, challenging every self deprecating statement I made too. The odd thing is, I know exactly how that feels. I lived it, ten years ago, and I ran the hell away, not knowing how to accept it.