I sigh, frustrated as I lay on my bed in the semi-darkness, the light from my phone illuminating my face showing to anyone who might be looking the beginnings of the tears I’m trying to hold back.

I cringe at my desperate and longing words, my memory told me I had handled it differently with maturity and dignity but here lies the unseemly truth, in the harsh black and white tones of my mobile screen, unfiltered.

The years have passed quickly since the break-up and yet when I read over everything said between us, I’m there again. The feelings I had for you, the giddiness at being near to you, the freedom I felt with you.

I go over our last happy time together, the way my hand felt in yours, the way you kissed me softly and gently. I smile at the memory of that warm summer’s evening, all the little surprises you had planned. The bar with the view that stretched for miles, tickets to see my favourite band, the magical dinner under the stars, a place I’ve never returned to. I savour every second, smell, touch of that evening with you. What a way to lose each other, I miss you. I miss you.

The ending was quick, a blink and it was over, lost to a moment of madness. There were no talks, no explanations, no closure, a desperate plea and nothing more. No second chances. I treated it all with coldness and denial at first, we had just been a fling, a crush, a fraud. I blanked the moments of love and connection. I miss the realness, the laughter, the beauty and the ugliness, the calm and the crazy. No closure for us just time and distance.

“Babe, pizza’s ‘ere,” the hungry shout comes thundering up the stairs.

“Coming,” I reply and move to head downstairs.

I’ll bury us again, lock it all away. It’s been too long, it’s fine. What is closure anyway?