What is of fact

Be it a year, be it two years, be it your broken record of a month, it always is too soon to utter any sentences let alone just a word. It always is too soon for anything at all. Love isn't essential anymore, not now where wreckages of thoughts exists, not when all you can think of is the coldness emitting from your soul. when all is said and done, Love isn't essential anymore, but a mere need out of the longing.