It’s been almost a year. We came and went with the seasons. No major drama. No great fallout. Just the slow transition from one to the other. No one to blame really. We just weren’t right for each other. Still, you had an impact on me. I complain less, at least about my problems. Did you know that cats will hide illness or injury until its practically too late? Maybe I learned the wrong lesson from our end. I’m still a bastard, after all. I’m just getting better at suppression. It’s nostalgia, true, but I can’t stop looking back. I wish we had balanced better. You did manage to pry some optimism out of me, and perhaps I tempered yours in a way that helped guide you away from misfortune. Even if it is a delusion, it’s a pleasant one. In any case, reality’s left us far behind. And despite feeling your absence I would not dare try to win you back. It’s a crude way to say it but at the same time points out the absurdity of it. You’re not a prize sitting lifelessly on a shelf. You’ve found someone who makes you happy in ways I never figured out. All the things I wanted to do but never did. He does more than trust and care. It’s why I’ve let you be for all these months. It’s cliche but true. You’re happy with him. I would be even more of a bastard to interfere. Your life is fuller outside of your current relationship as well. You’ve made your life better while I’ve slid backwards. Your home is welcoming while mine isn’t even a home, merely a place to rest with broken tiles and cold drafts. I’m not a better person, only a tired and silent one. The cold seemed so distant this time last year.