Its not that I don’t write anymore, I just don’t write about you. Done were the days my fingers flew; bleeding words on pages and tattooing your initials inside my left wrist with markers I wasn’t sure I could wash off. You were good to me, for a moment; a minuscule period of time in the duration in which my life shall be lived. You are a memory, something distant in the past that chases me from time to time. Worry not, I armored myself with bulletproof will and impervious determination. I care not if you think of me, only know that I no longer have the space nor the time to dwell over your absence for I have lived and thrived far longer in your absence rather than your presence. I loved you, I did, with all my heart, because that was the only way I know how, a flaw in me I couldn’t seem to fix. I was entranced by this feeling you stirred inside me when you smiled; the feeling has since fade away. You will always be my first – lets not debate whether you are worth being called something so special, but its the truth. Hard, concrete fact that I cannot change. I only pray I won’t look at the next person I love and treat him like he is the ghost of you. He deserves better than that, I deserve better than that.