I popped a cold malteser through my dry and chapped lips as the April rain pelted into the side of my face. Beyond the heavy claps of the rain, it was silent as I ambled down the broken white lines of the road. I don’t know what it was that posessed me to come out coatless on a midnight like this: the cold had seemed more welcoming than the warmth of my bed.

Suddenly I stopped. He had slept there: once, twice, more. He had slept beside me and whispered wetly in my ear, his warm flirting. I smiled at the memory before realising: his face had gone.

Everything from the shadow on his chin to the eyes I had once professed to be beautiful had faded from my memory, and with that realisation, the rest of the picture followed, sinking into the darkness.

The rain hit me harder and I laughed hard, and inside my eyes the sun shone as with each malicious, painful laugh, another memory was washed off with the rain. With the last of him gone, I pushed another malteser through my newly wet lips, and smiled at its warmth.