To undergo the withdrawals of a person is painful. It is the sound of seconds passing by, it is watching the sun rise and the night settle, it is feeling the day get drawn out longer and longer and longer still.

Night after night, I have imaginary conversations with you. They are the only things that make me feel sane. I still have thousand questions I need answers to. So I talk into my pillow, hear my voice resonate in my head, hear it sullenly echo within the cavity of my chest. And in the faintest whisper, I hear you respond--a voice of memory, a voice that sings of sadness, but the only source of consolation that lets me sleep ever so briefly.

The sun rises again, and the seconds pass by, the night settles, and the days are drawn out, longer and longer still. I wait to hear your voice again.