and you're not here, even though I can still remember the feeling of your arms
around me and the taste of your lips
. When you said "I'm sorry, this just isn't working any more", it felt like you reached out with your long-fingered hands and ripped out my heart and some lung and a few ribs for good measure
. I wondered how long you'd felt that way, how long you stayed with me out of pity
and if you even loved me in the first place
. Of course, I really didn't need to ask that last question, since you asked it yourself. Thanks for that, really.
I haven't really felt loved since the last time you held me. It's been a long few months. That hole in my chest where you used to lay your head is just... There, like a cold rock would be there, and I've been trying to find someone to help me patch the hole, but it's just too big.
I know I'll survive this. I know I'll be ok, and if I don't find someone else it won't be the end of the world. I just want to know why I feel like this. Why can't I be happy with just my books and my cat and my job and the rest of my non-life? Why do I need the feel of another person's skin against mine? And damn it, I'm sick of being strong. I want somebody else to deal with this for a while.
And it's 3am and I'm sick and I want more cookies, but I'm out of milk. Maybe things will be better in the morning. Maybe sunlight can warm my skin the way your breath used to. Maybe...