Regret.

I hate my condition.

I am carelessly running into things that remind me of you. Being here, inside myself, has never felt safe - I am slowly walking on the tip of my toes hoping I won't bump into memories of you; You're made of a nostalgia I'll be feeding on with hunger and I won't stop, I can't stop until I'll wolf everything down to the last could have been. 

I hate my condition.

MC 2019