Still not a day goes by that I can close my eyes without seeing your face. You'd think that after being shut out of your life for this long that I would be desensitized to the hurt when the memories of you flood and baptize me in regret. But I hate my drive into Dallas because of you. I hate taking the tollway north because it used to mean that I was just minutes from holding you. I hate the Galleria, and every sign that tells me to exit; like the echo of the longing inside my broken heart. I cripple in defeat as I sit in traffic and inch past that old hotel, eyes burning as I focus only on the flare of the taillights up ahead. Because as I pass each and every ruin of my happiness, the part of me that still belongs to you, haunts my periphery. Your ghost, still lingers.
Some days I wish the oceans would run dry, because it was until then, that I swore to love you.