prose

Burnt

I spoke to you again and again and again. I think I was starting to feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe I had been wrong casting you away. Maybe I had been unfair not giving you a chance. Maybe I—

but then you speak even though I cannot physically hear it. I start pouring out my feelings to you before I suddenly realize that I should stop doing that.

Any tiny lasting ember or spark that I had for you burned out tonight. I feel triumphant now. I can truly say that I do not miss you.

And I am surprised when I can feel that I actually mean it this time.

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