It was the first Monday of November. I shook my arms awake, saving them from sinking into this battle once again. I remember this unbearable drench of unconsciousness wavering over my head, my legs feeling a little sore, too painful to get up without letting out a silent moan. It was you who cried my name like just another hello, trapping my gasps and screams under silk sheets of a locked bedroom. I hope the trapped shrieks haunt corners of your mind like your touch used to in my nightmares. Despise is a little shy nowadays with my thoughts around you, after my talk with grief, it wants to pay you a visit. Some nights my brother used to ask me if I would ever wish hurt for someone who deserves all the misery collected in the sun. I used to answer a definite no. Now every time he asks, wondering about you, I whisper a silent maybe. If you sent all your pain to me, I guess you might be lacking some.