I hate to see people in love. 

Not because I begrudge them their joy—I like to think there’s enough of that to go around.

I can’t stand them because I can’t see a difference between myself and them.

What am I doing wrong?

Where is the love that is my due?

And oh I don’t mean friendly love, no one ever does. Maybe it is worth as much, was at one point– but goddamnit, look up and around and it’s all chocolate and roses! You complete me and forever and always and goodnight kisses and a safe harbour and someone who turns your joints to jelly and hopes to reality. 

What am I doing wrong?

Whose hand did I let go of a moment too soon?

I am numb to the point of feeling it. I feel the lacks, the absences, the spaces without. 

My pillowcase is creased, the faint smell of his cologne still lies lightly upon it.

I can’t bring myself to wash the sheets.

Oh, to not think back! To live only in the present moment! 

What a luxury forgetting would be.

You are here beside me as I hold my breath, bracing for impact.

I can’t stop waiting for the moment when you leave.

Oh, will you let me stay here, bare head against closed chest, just a minute longer?

Let me look you in the face, intangible as it may be. Let me know you were something real once. Something real and true. Let me know I didn’t make it all up. Etch your smile-lines and scars into the soft grey sponge of my brain, indelible artifacts of a softer time.

Then I can lock it up in my memory box and, I guess, go back to the places you are not.