I threw away all my photos of you, in false belief that a picture is worth a thousand words. From that, I would, in someway, find freedom in absence. That could never be more untrue, even without any physical souvenir of you, I have all these scattered pictures in my mind, all of them entwined in words. So many words. Hurricanes of words and phrases. Of all that was said and all that was left unsaid.
It's times like these that I put my hands over my mouth and think, not yet. Not just yet. And I dry swallow all my paragraphs.