"Pathetic, isn’t it?" He chuckles bitterly, leaning against your back, wrapping his arms around you, his fingers brushing your waist. His breath is hot against your neck and smells of cigarettes, as usual. He's the same pessimistic and addictive man he's always been.

"I leave you...then...I'm here,” He takes out a cigarette, plopping it in between his two lips, “missin’ you, knocking on your door."

You have always been like this - on and off, a vicious cycle you can't bring yourself to break.