Sometimes, a break-up is harder to get over after the rush of the end. The crying, the questions, the drama of it all. Once the show is over, and you’re meant to move on. And you find yourself sitting in silence with the memories of it, but more so, the persistent quiet of the present. Nothing left to unpack, nothing left to examine, to analyze, to fume over. It is what it was, it is what it is. It’s not been enough time for the relationship to grow into something new, different. So it’s just an empty garden, traces in the dirt of last year’s harvest.
the and times 