You You You

Love addiction is almost a medical condition. It's as if your whole body has been replaced by devices that measure the level of your ex in your blood. Your appetite disappears, your sleep is disrupted, the air crackles with his name, and your friends no longer know how to treat you - with tea and honey or a lobotomy.

Somewhere between the bar counter and the laundry room, a strange cleansing takes place - of words, of clothes, of hope. It feels like you're washing your heart, but the stain still shows through: right on your chest, in the rhythm of an old refrain.

And you kind of understand that the story was black and white, but for some reason your memory adds color. Especially gray - that very shade of farewell, in which summer turned into autumn.