The morning after is when the heart is at its heaviest.
Remnants of the night before are broken in fragments,
barely alive but still breathing, like wilting flowers—
Neon lights, stolen glances, cups of coffee, roaring laughter, moments when you feel like you're in love—
They turn to memories left in a time
that isn't far away just yet,
But the distance of just a few hours
makes you feel lonelier than ever.
*(The past within your reach, yet impossible to grasp once again.)