weaning is like slowly falling away, when you miss a saving reach and drift forever into the oblivion of forgetfulness. it is when numbing hands trace the beautiful symmetry of a jaw and you realize this lovely profile leaves no more impression. it is when you, finding your face so close to another you almost share the same breath, and yet, find no scents remarkable, no smell familiar.
weaning is like shedding your old person. this, the skin you once wore, the one faithful witness to all your ecstasy and wretchedness, finally loosening its grip and gradually wastes away. it is when the laughing echoes quiet down and passionate whispers fade. when crystalline eyes ceases from beholding past ghosts, when the rapturous taste of a kiss dissipates into the bland nothingness.
weaning is exhaling, with the hopes of taking another breath.
weaning is dying, with the promise of life again.