They say, "There are plenty of fish in the sea," but you see, I assure you, I am no longer in the sea, I am on the dock barely breathing.

When you left me all alone, I flopped out of the water in a full blown panic, with every text you did not open I launched myself into the air trying to remember how to breath. With every day we did not speak I grew weaker, oxygen deprived, you were my air supply. Flopping, flopping, gasping, and desperately grabbing onto any part of you I had left, I no longer felt alive, have I already tasted the bitterness of death? All I think about all day on the gritty dock is our best memories and the secrets you unlocked for me, we had something so pure and good; and then reality comes flooding back in the form of a panic attack, why am I not good enough, how the hell do you not miss me, where is your pain and your misery? Flop, flop, until finally it stops. I have been lulled into a disgusting dream, one where we do not speak, and this is supposed to be reality. I can no longer breathe. I am a fish out of water, with no more wounds left to bleed. I am dried out. Entirely. No more tears, air, or life can be found inside me. Please, Dear God someone put me back in the sea. Let us reabsorb the love that has inevitably left me to plead. But no, friend, carry on, there are plenty of fish in the sea. There just is no longer me.