What I envy most is that you’ll never wake with this kind of suffocating sadness that feels like it eats away at something behind your ribcage. Not quite your heart because in this type of sadness it retreats to its place of repair. Maybe your lungs, for breathing feels **** near impossible. You’ll never wake with your chest so heavy. You’ll never wake with a fist punched into your stomach twisting you nauseous. You’ll never wake with paralyzed limbs that prevent you from moving. You’ll never wake wishing you never woke. But because of this, you’ll never wake next to the love of your life. You’ll never wake up to know love. And I don’t envy you at all.