I'm broken now and I feel nothing.
It's hard to write—
You were the subject of all my art—
The only thing I can speak about now is nothing,
Opening my mouth and speaking silence.

There are rare moments when I feel happy.
Seeing you smile, hearing your laugh.
Those moments leave swiftly as my memories of you drifts,
Only thing left of you is memories,
Happiness caught in the timeline of our nonexistent relation.
I miss being happy.
I miss you.
I miss being happy with you.
But I guess happiness [love] is a joke,
Spoken from a page with unwritten words on it.