this is waking up at 4 am to find her name on his lips. this is repeatedly slamming the door because he can't stop leaving it open when he leaves.
this is how he smells when he comes home. these are his hands on your neck, silently hoping he's going to squeeze a little bit harder next time.
this is a phone call, and you swear it's going to be the last one, but you said the same thing last night and the night before. you don't know it yet, but that was the last time you'll hear his voice. this is your only pack of cigarettes and not being able to find the self control to make them last. not being able to find the self control to make anything last. these are the pills the doctor prescribed to make it go away. why won't it ******* go away. you're drowning, but your lungs are filled with smoke. this is for the nights you spent wide awake, tears and blood scattered all over his side of the bed. his side of the bed. his. this is for the days you spent staring at the door. waiting for something, waiting for anything to happen. wishing you didn't have to wait anymore. this is the burning you feel in your chest when you think about his mouth. it's been 9 months but you can still feel his lips on your cheek. this is for the hours you've spent staring at your hands, wondering why they feel so empty. why you haven't been able to feel anything expect for the void.