A Sense Of Homeliness.

Few people leave us and change us completely. Their separation is so sudden that you've to hold back and take a while to move forward and accept all the things you'll be doing without them. When you'd abruptly stop in the middle of something, craving for their presence. When at night, they won't be there to listen to your day. When their absence becomes so excruciating that you've to have a minute with yourself while having a conversation because you should be telling all the details to them and not someone else. When someone holds you, you miss how their skin feels.

When someone smiles at you, you miss the calmness of their eyes. Detachment, with few people, is so painful and agonizing that you forget to be yourself for a long time. Even if you know it all, you can't change it. It's worse when you get used to with their absence, and living with the void in your chest, which they left while leaving you, feels so comforting that you make a home out of it. A home where none can invade and even if somebody wants to, you don't let them. You love your little empty room which screams out loud the love songs that you once composed for yourselves, which are now sad ones. You can't possibly escape the fact that you'll be getting up every morning feeling like you're drowning, and they won't be waiting outside the water to save you. 

Few people left us and changed us, completely. When you left me, you took away a part of me. A part where emptiness presides now. And I don't let that emptiness go away, because it's the last thing that you've left for me. It reminds me that, the days I've spent without you, is more than the days we've shared together. That emptiness which followed by your absence, has a sense of your presence now.