Yes, I hated your words.

Pieces of what has been, crack and shatter into jagged shards. Forgotten for the sake of survival. To embibe is to remember a youth of wanting. What story? As if my story would ever continue. 
I breathed my first breath in years and when my story began it ended with you. As it should. I was dead long before we met. 
I cannot seem to bury your loss. It blooms still in my darkness.