Perhaps it's true that I've barely avoided a breakup by preparing a mountain of excuses and apologies for being so terrible, fearing I'd regret it the moment I let go, even while the word 'breakup' lived on my lips. Maybe we were broken from the very start. I've grown tired of counting the days where I gave up even expecting the initial flutter of excitement, yet I couldn't let you go because a tiny fragment of love still remained.

The first kiss, the first time, the day we went out just the two of us, and even the day all of this became mundane. Even if I was desperate in every moment, looking back now, I should have been grateful just to be able to laugh.

That day, too, we were twisting our already shattered relationship, saying we should break up, that it should be over. They say once you lose affection for someone, every little thing starts to bother you. Getting worked up over nothing, fighting again, crying, getting angry... What's the big deal about a single strand of hair? It wasn't even the scent of a woman's perfume, just a strand of hair.

Despite pushing each other away so viciously, the night we spent craving each other and touching skin while drunk feels hollow now. Falling asleep exhausted from crying, waking up and picking a fight again—it makes me realize all over again how much of a poison we've become to one another.

The moment even the fact that we were holding each other just moments ago turns into a terrible thirst. We're a pair who doesn't know where things got tangled or how to untie them, and even if we sleep together to try and resolve things, we'll only end up twisted into the worst possible knot again.