What is it in me that reacts so strongly to you? Wether it is your stubborn refusal to leave my thoughts, or your role in many of my memories, or your huge physical presence. I can sense you, where you are or if you’ve gone. I feel so tuned to you in the most futile sixth sense kind of way. How is it that certain conversations always turn towards you; how this and this happened and who said what and how those secrets so ill kept were so quickly found out and spilled? Gripped by some cold fist in my gut, my breath is stolen from me and it’s a hard fight to get it back. There is no love lost, but is there? Was it love? Or temporary fun made by kinship and lack of… Others? I feel no sense of loss… But anger came and ravaged inside the plains of me, and with it came a fire that burned bright with the kindling made of who you were to me. Who you were. It left nothing in its wake, cept ashes with a few torn memories to keep the nights chill away. This healing so sought after, so begged and pleaded for has been mightily slow in coming; but come it has, at last, and it soothes across me; it blocks the eyes, calms the tempest within, and quiets the heart. Never has something so long awaited tasted so sweet, or felt quite as refreshing. Never has peace so fully taken hold, quieting every little one of my complaints. A taste of a future viciously fought for.