You have turned into my writing.

The girl that was lost to herself.

The girl who thought the rest of her life wouldn't be enough to substitute one single moment.

You weave into my words and into my meanings until it's awkward and depressing.

You stain my prose in constant pained attention.

You became a story I brush off as untrue and a story others cringe at.

No more will you be my writing.

You have turned into music.

The words written for the unknown were now speaking to me directly.

The songs that left me unaffected now tainted.

The rhythm I hear boom in the back of my base has now become your heart beat.

It mocks me in a way that's addicting.

No more will I hear you in lyrics.

You've become my pain.

The sigh that escapes at two in the morning when I can no longer distract myself.

The cry that comes when I forget a feature of your face.

The ache I feel deep in my bones whenever a simple hug reminds me of your absence.

I wish I could live without you, but youre a part of me.

You've become pain, but when will it stop?