Nothing left

Nothing left. There is nothing left of you and me. Nothing left of you in me. I am trying to find a worthy way of saying goodbye, but I am not sure I can find it. Our love was immense — a delusion of the minds. Everything we had was nothing. It was lust that was glorified and labelled as something else. We took different turns in understanding it. It took me longer to let go. And you loved it…

This was the first fiction I have written in a while. My muse has left, and everything I begin writing was either written before (and in a more elaborate language), or it oozes melancholy and angst. My inspiration must be on vacation. I am not sure what or who is holding me back. Maybe I am doing it all by myself.