I could barely open my eyes when the first morning after you left greeted me. My room had stayed the same, and the world did not end. Yet a hole as big or even bigger than the universe was carved out of my soul; why did it feel like my world had stopped turning? I trembled as my heart ached, knowing that you felt the opposite; that instead of pain, you're feeling a newfound sense of freedom without me.

It was never pain that you felt, nothing but the mere guilt of letting me believe you'd stay forever.

I wish it was only the first morning, but it went on for a week, a month, a year, two years. Your absence lingered in my mouth, and the flavor of anguish continued to wash down my throat. I refused to accept your decision to end things with me. And so I did everything to get you back.

I chased after the clouds, tried to catch water with the palms of my hands, and I begged on my knees as if you were a God mocking the intensity of my unanswered prayers.

"Please love me back," like a puppy on a leash. But even imbeciles knew that you can't love someone into loving you.

But then the time came when I stopped running after the love I thought we had. It crossed my mind that perhaps I also deserved more than just the crumbs, more than the droplets of water, more than just a half-meant "I missed you", and "I'll try to love you again".

That maybe I deserved more than the love you couldn't give, and that maybe there's more to life after you.