I’ll die before I ever see you again. A year has passed since I’ve seen you. It’s November again. I’ve done nothing, and I’m stuck with the same feeling you left me. I ask myself sometimes if you think about me, about us. I pray every day that I’m not as forgettable as I think I am, but maybe I am. I’m terrible at closing doors after all. I think it’s because part of me hopes it was all some terrible dream in some far-off place. I still sometimes crave that understanding you gave me. It just scares me to think that in any moment I can fall into the kind of love that might take forever to heal, but when I look at myself in the mirror, you wanna to know what I see? Something that has been broken forever, sometimes I can find peace with you living, accepting that you weren’t for me; other nights I find myself staring at the wall, bargaining with God, asking him what I have to do or give up for him to bring me back to you.