Is there nothing more to say?

Once again, the change.

It's different now, it moves in silence and you feel an ice cold chill where that warmth used to be. You can feel your voided chest cry, desperately and hopeless in the darkest one of the corners of your body.

You know you witnessed the end, you know it's time for a funeral. At least you can stop being afraid, you think. Too much pain holding it's hand during the slow agony we all now suffer. It's hard saying goodbye, we know. Even harder not being able to say it.

An accident, the finish line. The sudden death of the artist's dreams, the perished muse of the lost poet. I bet you are happy... I hope you are.

I just can't handle any more tears, so I dedicate this last ones to you. Along with my silence... There's no such thing as a faithless writter. No such thing as dreamless art.

Another one bites the dust.