I saw your picture and I had this ache in my heart. I wanted to write to you and say it s over, but then whose choice was it, it’s not about who acted the last ending scene. It was over before it started. It was not over when I stopped calling you, it was not over when I stopped telling you my heart’s every beat, and it was not over when you answered and life seemed so sarcastic and I so lame. It was over before I did all that before stopping all that. It was over when we first met, in that wedding, how clichéd that is? I smile when I remember, I was not even yours that time and never was and never will be, but you were mine for split seconds when your walls went down, and you gaze. Your smiles don’t make sense, fake, they say I believe that now, not innocent they say I believe that now, dangerous they say and I believe that now. I have lost my faith in everything but how ugly I want to think you are. Silly man, why haven’t you fought for me? I know you naked and dressed, beautiful and defaulted and lying and truthful, except I don’t think you ever were any of these. I read a poem and answered with nil worlds. I had tears in my eyes just for remembering you, but these are not farewell tears they are just from the smoke of my cigarette burning my fingers as I type this. I smash the cigarette softly in the ash tray thinking it’s you, burning your heart; though I have no desire to burn that heart that I carry within mine. I burn the cigarette and pause, what s next? What should I write, this is not written for you!!! This is written because I have nothing else to do as a closure, I had so many of those I can’t do it anymore. Maybe, just maybe because I don’t want to have a closure or “this” kind of closure. I want my hopes to remain the same, I surrender, I want to have you and I know I never will. Keeping you within seems the best I can do; knowing that now all this fakeness is over is not relief as much as surreal reality I don’t want. I will have my withdrawal ash tears and keep you within.