Thinking about you is exhausting. It’s overwhelming. Wondering how you are, how you've been. Having every little thing bring back a memory of you. A memory that stays in my mind for hours, days even. Thinking about all the things I wanted to tell you; all the times I needed you to be there for me, but you weren’t. Wondering if I had told you those-three simple, yet so very complicated- words, if it would have made a difference. Any at all.
                                                      If you would have stayed.
Sometimes I almost forget you left; then I remember. I make myself remember. Remember the most painful things. I don’t know why I do. It’s like every time the wound is almost healed, I cut it back open with a rusted, double edge sword; but this time
                                                                ­ slower,
                                                                ­                    deeper,
                                                                ­                                longer.
I guess the feeling of pain- of missing you- is better than feeling nothing at all.