“You are my sweetest downfall…”

The first line of Regina Spektor’s song, Samson, floats like a haunting memory across my mind. Was it only two years ago that we lay on the cold parquet floor of your room, snuggled closely for warmth, as the scent of sandalwood drifted in the air? I’ve got to shake this vividness off. It’s already been a year.

“Your hair was long, when we first met…”

It was your hair, I believe, that made me begin to love you. Then we talked, and everything else happened. Time and distance played a game with us, and now all that’s left are faded memories of sunnier days (or moonlit nights, as you never liked the sun).

“But they’re just old light…”

The lights of the distant stars were the only heavenly bodies present on those new moon nights where we shivered in your car, counting and naming the constellations. Nowadays, I hardly see those lights–they’ve been replaced by the harsh, closer, yellowy-electric streetlamps.

“I loved you first, I loved you first…”

You were first to bid those lights goodbye.

And now, it’s my turn.