I haven’t written anything in far too long and I keep telling myself it’s because I’m not inspired or I’ll do it tomorrow or I’ve got better things to do, but I’m too scared of the way the distance kept growing between me and you until everything collapsed under the weight of silence. You watched as our strings became tangled and I remember the first day I noticed your dull eyes stopping registering my existence. I wanted to tell you so much but I didn’t know where to start. I lost count of the etches scratched into your bedpost after you told me they didn’t mean anything and I did, but the purple bruises on your neck kept reappearing long after she kissed you in that drunken haze that you swore was a mistake; but mistakes aren’t lessons unless you learn from them. I promised myself I’d learn from you, from your words that you twisted into poetry, into lies, in my head. When even the silent moon keeps screaming out your name, I’ll bite hard into ice to remind myself that despite my attempts, your heart never thawed.