There's not enough alcohol in the world to fill the void you've left. Your silence holds enough torture in itself to remain nameless and beyond anything explored.
Only I know - I've mapped it out in several pages.
I have mapped out the curve on your bottom lip that I never kissed, and below that a chin that's connected finely to the jaw bones chiseled by God himself. Your soft palms that sprouted out to five different ways in which you could have touched me. Five ways in which I could have held on to you.