I don’t make it easy. Every space, every space reminds me of you. I spent a lifetime surrounding myself with constant reminders. Even those not obviously connected – songs, images, words. They all come back to you. My way of always having you close, my coping mechanism backfired.

It’s not as simple as erasing you. Your memory tied to the very things I have come to love. Rather than quarantining myself I have painted over your reflection. I replaced every thought of you with happier times, genuine smiles, and laughter. But still there you linger, beneath the surface. In the darkest recesses, in the spaces where I have least control.

I have no answer to your presence there. If I follow my own theories it’s because at those times your thoughts have turned to me. Even if that’s true, what good could possibly come of it? If you had shown me you could cause anything but harm you would not exist only in that space. There I always had words for you, but now still nothing. I know you don’t have answers for me either. You haven’t figured it out.

I try to think my way through this. It can only be the response to one of two scenarios. The first, albeit unlikely possibility is that you have realised that your actions were wrong. You don’t know how to make amends so you wait until you think enough time has passed that my anger will have subsided and I am able to talk to you again. The tried and tested method. It’s never failed you before. The other, that you have learnt to do what I try to do every day, perhaps for the rest of my days: stay away.

I weep.


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