It's late march, almost 2 AM. Nights now feel slightly warmer than usual, chromatically. It's not the usual hour to notice the hidden twist of tonality in the darkness, but it's been for Naeem these days. Nights now feel sleepless, but they also feel like heart to hearts with oneself. Living in the void and trusting your memory to guide you through the furniture around you. Sometimes, you rely on it a lot. Nights weren't this lonely, there were hands that held you in the darkness, that woke up if you woke up and that hated daytime as much as you. You, for each other, were perfect. You, together, were unstoppable. The world was miserable, but this one person. Other people were too useless in those lost eyes of yours. This lostness, you clinged to that, you clinged to that a lot, didn't you? Now your eyes are not only lost, they're hollow. Now, there's nothing to hate but yourself. Inside your lonely bed sheets, you're the only sinner. A single mattress in an undecorated room, ramen noodle containers you haven't cleaned since last year, barely two pieces of furniture per wall, these were fragments of you; you had very little, but it worked. These items now live forever broken in what's home to you, and only to you. You two were filth to society, but gold to one another. Now, you're back in square one. You're filth. You quit your job for her, didn't you? You re-imagined your apartment for her, didn't you? You tore down walls, ignored friends and family, disregarded help for help, didn't you? She did the same, but now she's gold on her own, which is maybe why my nights are so yellow, because you're still here. Now, what do I do, live?