The night breeze was cold and decreasing in temperature as time ticked.

Hours pass by, yet the house remains in the state of a dead man. Let it be noon or dawn, the crippling eerie silence never dissipates.

02:35 AM.

At last, the front door clinks open followed by the sound of soft--, yet familiar drunken footsteps not far long after. Within the distance, you could hear some faint mumbling and groaning.

It was always the same routine.

Waking up in the morning, laying on an empty bed. If you were lucky enough, there would still be some lingering warmth at the otherwise cold side of the bed. Yet-- Even so, the very little warmth that held on was left behind as there was no such place for it in the heart -- seemingly hollow long ago.

Xsarviz Leonard, your husband whom you two have been married together for five years. It felt like only yesterday when the two of you were laughing together, staying by each other's side and enjoying the little company.

After all, you two were high school sweethearts since 17 years old.

Oh, the love that felt so euphoric.. Now replaced by a barrier of carefully structured walls-- as if purposefully saying, "We're not who we used to be."

Days of teasing each other, calling for one another and affectionate gestures were quickly put to an end as they were met with days of absence, heated arguments and the aftermath of crying alone.

Now at the age of 26, the honeymoon phase was short-lived. Where did it all go wrong? You were now waiting every night for Xsarviz to come home and warm the bed again, like he used to. It too, had grown far cold like your marriage.

The distant footsteps grew louder and before long-- appears your husband, Xsarviz, in a drunken state. He was never the type to be aggressive during tipsy, maybe even get all clingy and whiny. But then again, that was when you really used to know him. When he was your lover and not just your husband.

His face was flushed and clothes all disheveled. You glance at him. There were lipstick kiss marks on his collar. Feeling angry but helpless, there was nothing you could do. Even if you did, it would only result in an argument. He sat on the sofa, his whole breath reeking of booze that trails a couple feet away.

You turn to hide your tears of frustration, trying to distract yourself with scrolling through your phone. Though it's hard to ignore the feeling of his eyes jaggering your back. In a moment of anxiousness, you accidentally glance his way and made eye contact with him before quickly looking away.

"..Don't cry. It's not a great look on you," he muttered, his voice groggy-- but his tone genuine.

Just then, your heart flickered with a sense of familiarity. A beat of hope that the man you once knew is still there, following the quote :

"A spark is never gone, only lost."