When a lovely flame dies…

It’d be a lie to say you haven’t thought of him in a long while. You do, from time to time. All those memories, happy or hurtful, usually buried so deep inside the furthermost nooks and crannies below the iceberg of your mind, would sometimes resurface in the most unexpected moments. You remember them but you don’t miss them. Two very different things, are they not?

There’s his old t-shirt, the one with the torn collar, neatly rolled up, squashed amongst a pile of summer skirts. You couldn’t bring yourself throw it out. Nor could you get rid of that bundle of cards, letters, and silly notes. The special “us” album is also there in that drawer. The CDs with all the photos are still in the same stack under your desk. Like nothing’s happened. Like nothing has EVER happened. It takes two seconds to fish any of them out and potentially trigger an emotional avalanche. The chance is rather low, but still you don’t want to risk it.

You didn’t cry back then. You did for a little bit, when it all started to unravel. And then without any indication, you stopped. For a long time. Everyone, if not worried, was puzzled. A friend even mentioned how you put up a good disguise, how you managed so well to hide it all from others, but must have been secretly bawling your eyes out. Not a single gram of truth. Without even trying, you didn’t shed a tear, didn’t lose any sleep, didn’t withdraw from the world. You moved on like it was the most natural thing. Whether it was numbness, or relief, you simply could not tell. Probably more of the latter. But deliberately dissecting your mental state and shove it under an emotional microscope can only get you so far. You’d rather let it be. Let the sleeping dog lie, or so they say.

Last week Mum asked, if you regret any of this, any of the times you thought the future meant just that one certain person, any of the times you stopped believing in that shit (ok so Mum didn’t actually say the s-word, but that’s the drift), or any of the times you changed your mind and threw yourself in one of those whirlpools, again. You told her regret doesn’t exist in your dictionary. You told her there’s no point in looking back and mourning lost things. You told her, it was indeed a lovely flame, smoke did get in my eyes but look, Mum, no tears.

~night~

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