It burns… it always has. The first sting was sharp, unforgettable. Yet here I am, growing used to the hurt, tracing its edges like something I know by heart. Darling… tell me honestly—was any of this real?
My heart aches for the warmth only you could give, and my ears ache for the softness of your voice. Tell me—when will your sound find its way back to me again?
You were nothing but a brief spark in my darkest night. Yet, as much as I despise it, I still wait—foolishly—for that once-in-a-blue-moon glimmer to find me again through this fogged-up window.