Hungry to put my feelings into words, eager to let them out.

Even though no one but me can hear them echo, louder than they've ever been,

I still write. I still speak. I still see. And I still feel.

There's no company in this suffering. I do it all alone, no solace gained if this pain is shared.

Voices a plenty speak in a multitude of languages, cross referencing my past, the present and a future I am yet to see.

But they are congruent, harmonizing ever so marvellously... with crests and troughs of my being.

When I am down and out, they push me further below.

When I am trying to come up, they pull me closer...only to let go, when the moment comes.

And each of those moments are punctuated with your memories.

You're at every corner, whichever way I go. At every turn and at every door.

Those voices are your whispers. Words you said, still half asleep, mumbling your way to waking up...

Holding me closer, me breathing you in.

This is the final ascension, and the final regression.

There's inevitability. There's a finality.

There's acceptance. There's disappointment.

There was us. Now it is just me.

And you would've said...never fall in love so easily. 
But Honey I do, everyday.
And I keep rediscovering the depths, which seem endless.
I love you and I hate just as passionately. 

Maybe that's why I fall everyday.
Somedays it's love, on some it's hate.