You're like a song on the playlist of this heartache strumming the chords of my pain over and over again.
Nostalgia is looking at me with sad eyes, watching me suffer from undiagnosed Last Song Syndrome stuck to my vocal cords.
The music is over still, I kept humming, a hopeless attempt to remember which part of the lyrics we went out of tune and began hurting each other. Was it when you sang all by yourself when we're supposed to go on a duet? Or, when I paused to catch my breath because I knew we're off-key.
You're like a song on my secret playlist, the anthem of this pain, the hymn I'd always sing even if the melody that links our heartbeats and breaths have long died on our lips.