If only he knew that my soul has allowed hope to harden itself around what I once called my love. But he does not (wish to) see that for me, there is no point in hoping, for I have been but a remainder in his equation all this time.
I cannot be supplementary to anyone. Even him. It is not my love that has died but rather the foolishness that was hope. And I mourn for him, that he did not awaken to see what I unconditionally held onto until it could no longer breathe on its own. For he is now the fool I was, returning for what he was never willing to give unselfishly. But while I still hold on, I have also let him go. I am his remainder no more.