Painkiller. Narcotic. Mechanical, cold words for something that is wonderful, something people couldn't live without.
You were my narcotic once. You, with your dark hair and deep eyes and winning smile. A glance and a smile from you meant the world to me. Small, meaningless conversations became the staple of my existence. When I was having a gloomy day, even just the prospect of seeing you made the sun come out again. My thoughts revolved around you as the moon around her earth. You made everything seem right.
But that was a long time ago.
Now the memory of that smile sears my heart. Remembering you makes everything hurt worse. Silence fills the space between us so immensely that nothing can penetrate it. Nothing can quench it. The sun doesn't come out anymore, and the moon stopped her revolution – because now, there is nothing left to revolve around but empty memories. It hurt so badly to think of you.
So I lit a match and held it to your memory. I watched it burn ever so slowly, as if clinging onto life, desperate to keep breathing. But I let it burn.
And yet here I am today. I kneel in the ashes of your existence, sifting through them desperately, trying to find a piece of you that's left for me to cherish.
But all I can find is ashes and smoke, and I wonder why I ever let myself do it.
And then I remember the day you left.