"Did you miss me? Because I did. Every damn day."

"I know you're angry...
Because I don't come here often anymore."
My voice was barely a whisper, thick with guilt.

The silence was deafening.
And then my throat gave out — a soundless sob.
"It hurts... it hurts so damn much."

And then I whispered — a confession I hadn't admitted aloud in so long.

"It's all your fault."

My knees gave up, and I slumped against the edge of the bed.
"Kyu chhod gayi mujhe tum...?".

.

.

And I feel guilty.

So damn guilty.

I feel like I’m cheating on you.

Like I’m betraying your memory.

You were my home. 

You know me better than anyone ever has.

So tell me…

Would you be angry,