Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

a grey mist remains of what was mine before you ran away, soundless moments,  a useless motion,  an emptiness that cannot be contained, an emptiness that cannot be touched, yet it’s felt when you touch me, can’t you see, within the sea of what is and was, that you are something that I can never be, for the mist that remains, is the mist that was the same as me, the mindless drivel of who I can never be, for you see, that within this all, this mist of who I wish you would see me to be, I am not me..