I am now playing my guitar, my tears falling on her, rolling down her face.

Have you missed me?
Because I have. Yes, I have missed me. I have missed the raging fire that used to engulf me whole, word by word. Now I’m but the mere rubbing of flint. Fire and desire, both turned into perennial question marks.
Do I have the permission to ask you the questions that plague my nights? The moon waits outside my window, her light held in her expectant palms, waiting to bathe me in nightly bliss. But I chose… nay, you made me choose the darkness. Wasn’t he a friend of yours or something? Thank the stars that I was always the introvert who was always socially awkward. I don’t gel well with people who don’t show their faces.
The Beatles used to confuse me at first, way back when I hadn’t even met you. How could a guitar weep, when it was an inanimate object? Fast forward 6 years and 8 months, I am now playing my guitar, my tears falling on her, rolling down her face. I look at the moon, still waiting outside my window, while my guitar gently weeps.
So. Yes. These are my thoughts. Now. Emotions. Fleeting moments of elation. Followed by euphoria. Punctuated by melancholy. Disjoint. Disproportionate. You have left me gasping for the glue that makes entire sentences seem meaningful. Fuck me, I’ve even broken the rules of language.
Happy, are you? But have you missed me?
Because you if you have, then I’ve been long gone. The moon dropped all her light into the ocean, and I returned with her, hand in hand.

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