Warped, crackling flecks of orange hinted at a face not seen in fifteen years.
We gazed into the beating heart of the blaze, and we chuckled with each jab of nostalgia as it dominated our evening.
But if we exhaust our shared memories, nostalgia alone will not suffice in filling that silence.
We're grownups now, and your voice is so different to the one I remember.
Such change brings with it the heaviest of hearts.
Is nostalgia really all we have left?
Has the substance of our relationship been vapourised entirely?
Surely life's too short to let something so precious simply cease to exist.
Maybe it ceased to exist long ago.
We live our own lives now, but I'll carry those memories in my heart until the moment it stops beating.
At least we have nostalgia, because without it, those golden years don't exist.
I'll see you in another fifteen years, my friend.