As though I have forgotten where I was the 25th of that month — as though my heart did not shatter in the heat of August — as though when I tried again my ego survived the aftermath untouched.

In the dead of the night as I walk up the road to my bed, I let the tears overwhelm me for ten seconds before these familiar walls surface from the ground up. There goes my mind again, fuelled by all the thoughts of what should have been. That is when the voices return.

And that is when they are all screaming, He’s not coming back.

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