one day everything falls apart. your hands and her promises and you heart. loving her turns into not sleeping. ever. that one day six months later when you finally saw her again and choking on not saying I love you before she left because you can't stand the thought of her not saying it back. the possibility. this ache. someone asks you what happened between the two of you and you say that even the continents came apart. they don't get it. you don't either. something breaks inside of you every time the wind blows and you smell her perfume. something harder than glass. they call this something hope. she knows where you live and she knows you never leave but she isn't coming back. make no mistake. there will be no surprise visits. no knock on your door at five a.m, no tear streaked hello's and no heartfelt I missed you's. no happy ending. no ending at all. just a belly full of whiskey and the last time she told you she loved you. her words feel like plagiarism in your ear. you wonder how her mother would feel about this. you wonder if her mother saw this coming a mile away. you wonder if her mother will always be right. you take another drink and wonder how this glass would sound as it breaks against your wall. the moment it leaves your hand you regret it. what a mess. all liquor and love sick and four a.m. the rorschach stains on this carpet from back when you were practicing for ava or evelyn or aiden. she picked the names. all the carpet cleaner in the world won't erase the memory. you wouldn't try even if it would. the empty chair theory doesn't soothe this broken heart of yours. nothing does. you pull another glass from the cupboard and see her lipstick stain on the edge. you imagine being small enough to jump from the top and landing hard enough to **** yourself but softly enough to not leave a stain. they would look at you and say, "I think this one was an accident." and they are wrong.