I never stopped crying to you, to be honest. The days, as gray as ever, completely consumed me. When you left, I forgot the texture of passion. I never knew how to name ours, but today I recognize that it was love. Your skin, soft as an angel's, plunged me into a lucid dream several times. Your hands accompanied me, and became my only consolation. I miss the ungraciousness of our bed, the empty wine bottles that lay on that wooden counter, and the deadliest corners of our apartment. I remember in great detail the last time I saw you in person. It was the darkest night I ever saw, and the next morning was the grayest I could see. You disappeared, your absence was noticed and the apartment rotted next to me. I also remember the moment when you deigned to communicate with me. You called me, I barely recognized your voice, you seemed tired, very tired. He told me to remove things from our department, which from then on is your department. I was left with only the memories, whose emotional value increases every day. I wanted to move on, and pretended to, but never could. I never stopped crying to you.
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