The Old, the Past and the Present

the real goodbyes happened slowly. it came without warning. silently. and when it finally struck you, no matter how prepared you are for it, it still struck you speechless, leaving you exposed to your old wounds, ripping you apart with so much intensity that you reeled over and bent in agony. you hate knowing this vulnerability in you, a glitch in your life and body that you seems can't get rid of. you hate the fact that somewhere hidden in you, somewhere tucked in those little secluded places in your heart, a longing still lingers, an emotion you thought you are incapable of long time ago surfaced in your life despite the fruitless attempt of trying to ignore it, kicking it out of your system, and burying it forever in the ground. "i know where you are, baby. i know what you love and what you hate. and i can smell you from a distance. you cannot escape me." he sneered. "and next time, i promise you, i promise, you will never live to forget it. never." and you thought, brilliantly, not being able to see it, feel it or touch it, it will be gone for good. which is why the real goodbyes are here to stay. they get rooted into your life, like the mosses that dug itself deep into the wall. that when you try to pull them out, traces of the past, the marks of old endearment are still visible on the walls.