The theros of the setting sun

With every reality comes a perspective. Ours might be skewed. I will preserve mine, for there is not much else to do. 

I un-friended you today. After almost a year of pushing the inevitable.
Just a click of a button, in Life. Tch. 

Distorted visions. Long decayed delicacies. 

Ours had to rot. 

The something about endings. The theros of it. 

The sunsets each day. We will have a new sunset tomorrow. Only you will have yours, I mine. I wish I could have claimed that mine, by the virtue of being by the beach, will be better. Only, I no longer wish to regale you with the wonders of my wanderlust. The corrosion of the seas and the mountains have made home in the impenetrability between us.
I no longer wish I had the power to combat your demons. It’s been exhausting. I am exhausted.
Today, I shall stop wishing unto you, too. 

Know this, my love, the laments come from not only the loss of love, but also the loss of the person that will never again be, the you and the me, the we, long dead anyway. The memoirs, shared, or kept to be revelled in, later; the books, the cinema, the paintings, the dadu-dida and kakima, the lovers, the insatiable lusts, the passion, tears, the ambitions, both the lofty and not-so-lofty ones, the houses and homes, the complaints and glitches, the losses, the all of it that will never again be. I make peace with it today, after months of pretending I have. 

Apologies though, for the painfully lengthy period of life support. It took me some time, a great amount of moving and doing to get here, undoing each pier, one by one lill painful block. I really am exhausted.

Little by little decay will set afoot; perhaps it already had in all its shrouded decorum. Powerful, sentient and vigilant. I like a fool had been gazing into the sunset. 

I leave usually not without goodbyes. Ours is not needed.