I Write As a Form of Therapy

I think about you sometimes, and wonder how you’re doing.

What we were is way in the past... I am not the same person that you knew and loved.

I miss you, but probably that “you” doesn’t exist anymore.

It makes me sad that the past cannot be salvaged.

Ruins, ruins of memories.

We are nothing but strangers now, when I once couldn’t imagine life without you around.