May 12th

I promise I won't write to you anymore, I'll leave a taste of goodbye in your mouth, a taste of expectation, like the one I had.

I promise I won't remind anyone, especially not you, that it's not over. I promise to act as if it were, as if I could move forward. I promise I'll stay indifferent and do as if everything was forgotten.

I promise I won't summon you anymore. I promise I won't invoke you under any circumstances nor by any means, even the most diverted ones. I promise to do as if I'd listened to you and stopped thinking to start living.

You won't see me anymore. You will never know that I still think of you, except if our senses are connected.

I' like the time to go by quickly and to already be gone without seeing you again, without giving you the chance to see me.

I'd like you to want to see me, even if you hold yourself back, even if you don't say anything, as you did, as you've always done.

I'd like you to miss me.

I'd like you to have regrets.

I'd like you to be mad at me for leaving.

I'd like to feel the end I've been feeling since the beginning.

I'd like you to feel the fear, the void and the nothingness. The nevermore.

I'd like you to think about it and be tormented as you tormented me.

I'd like you to have a taste of the chance you missed out on, the chance you killed and buried, a taste of failure and guilt.

I'm not kind.

I'd like you to suffer from this taste, to count the days, to feel them pass, to face the void, the absence, the silence.

I'd like you to see me again.

I'd like you to remember our few encounters. I'd like you to want more, even if you hold yourself back.

I'd like you to desire me even it you repress it. I'd like you to suffer from it. I'd like it to tear you apart, to obsess you, to haunt you, to gnaw on you, to make you relive everything and think about our future that will never happen.

I'd like you to feel the taste of goodbye.