i wake up at 5 am every day, on the dot. i don’t use the alarm clock you gave me anymore, though. the heavy feeling in my chest is just enough to pull me from my dreams. it always takes a while before i finally start to move. strange, isn’t it… it’s almost like i don’t want to get out of bed.

after dragging myself across the hall and into the bathroom, i start my daily staring contest with my own reflection in the little mirror above the sink. i wonder if it knows how empty the real me is feeling. i always have long repetitive conversations with my shower head about you. it tells me to move on. i tell it to go **** itself. we’ve become very good friends.

it’s almost 6:30 am at this point. after getting dressed, i start a quiet discussion with myself about what kind of alcohol would serve as the best substitute for your lips that day. the answer is ***. it’s always ***. i’m actually allergic and get really bad stomach aches. but hey, i might as well feel something, right?

i watch the sunrise from my living room couch and wonder if you’re doing the same. a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and my heart in the other. i can never bring myself to put it back between my ribs, because i’m afraid i might start to move on.

as i leave the house, i hear my bed calling my name. i do my best to ignore it and lock the door behind me. still, i can’t stop myself from wishing this voice belonged to you. i take a moment to listen to the sound of the wind rushing through the leaves, as if to convince myself that there is more to life than this pain. i know though, that when i come back home tonight, it will still hurt just the same.