Two clouds floating past each other, barely a passing glance. Your smile faded at the eyes into vacant upturned lips. The late night conversations faded into “read at 2:46 pm”. I’m reaching out while you unpick your fingers from mine. Even when your fire died down; your skin turned clammy and your nails pinched my flesh, I gripped you because the idea of having nothing to hold onto was petrifying. I sometimes wonder if your heart still beats or if your body is fuelled entirely by adrenaline or spite. I sometimes wonder if you’ve shifted or I stared right through you before. I hang onto those years but that doesn’t mean I miss the way you made me feel. It stings to curl my fingers around emptiness but don’t miss shrinking every day to suit you. I don’t miss the way you took my problems in your fist, shattered them and handed the shards back. I don’t miss you. I just want to know why.

Photographer: Chih Han Yang
Swimwear: Moun Moun