You’ll wake up one day wishing you’d asked her to stay. Would she have? Probably not. Would there have been contemplation? Possibly. You never asked though, did you?
So you drink and you smoke and you cry and you choke, forget what the world felt like before the hitch in your throat. It makes it very near impossible to merely think, let alone utter words stringed together in an almost coherent way. The stars in your eyes fade to black. The ending credits, to a movie you never wanted to see.
Before, you would go through the days without skipping a beat, but it’s hard to stand tall without feeling your feet. Every step, every move, every touch, every glance, is a perpetual reminder that you are alone shivering and shaking on that cold bathroom floor. Pulling out shards of broken glass that are your scars, and the pain bleeds darkest crimson from the depths of your soul.
Alone.
Your focus is on breathing. Through the hurt. Through the pain. Through the days, they’re all the same. Through the better. Through the worst. Through your memory now cursed.
Is she seeing things the same, or are you furthest from her mind? The wondering, wishing, wanting, waiting plagues every second of every moment of every day.
You think and you sleep and you drink and you weep, you spend hours holding onto the things you can keep. It comes in waves and all but takes your breath clean away, leaving you broken and bare in the midst of your own sadness. You’re unable to fathom a path through the dark. The ending credits, to a movie you never wanted to see.
You know things will get better, at least that’s what they say, in those heart wrenching moments when there’s no other way. Every second, every minute, every hour, all the time, is a constant waiting game for things to move forward, for you to be able to pick yourself off the canvas that is your broken hopes and dreams, lying naked and afraid. Yourself. Afraid. Alone.
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