I thought I can handle it. I thought I’m done and over it. But the road was long and I haven’t even reached the middle of it. The air is thick, embraced by smog and dusts and I’m finding it hard to breathe. The details of the past are dancing, intertwining… occupying the corners, the random spaces that could be my refuge. I cannot move. I cannot walk. And I’m stuck in a place where all I can do is to watch those memories... flying, floating away from where I stood. They are the embers of us—burning. We are broken.
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