I told myself there was too much of him in me and me in him for us to ever fully forget each other. But there we were, walking at different paces, heading in different directions. He’s handed me back my arm and my leg and in return I’ve given him back the same. What’s left in the end? Not even the charred ground after a volcano, the ruin of a battlefield, just empty sentences and good manners. What hurts more than missing him is realising I no longer do.
