Back in the same space
Without the warmth of you
Like a summer's day
Without the heat of the everlasting sun

But my mind fails to grasp
At the straws of truth
That have fallen out of the metaphysical trough

Facts facts facts
Your warmth? Wasn't permanent
Your cold winds affected me more!

You took me in
Made me feel at ease
Put away my blanket and sat me down
Front of a crackling fire place
Then before my first sip of tea
Turned me out
Into the howling storm

And I howled with it.

World war 3?
Please
I'm on world war 3000

It's funny, you know
That I used to like snow
But now I cower
From the icy winds

I have enough frost within my soul

It had become such where if I merely looked at your face, I could smell the deep mystical sea breeze scent of your perfume mixed with your warmth. I could feel the texture of your skin, and your temperature was my own. Your microexpressions, all stored in my heart. Every gesture, the movement of every muscle imprinted on my lidded eyes, through which my heavy tears seemed to seek escape.
I cannot even look at you anymore, without a storm in my heart and a tsunami of pain washing me onto the shore again and again, pounding me into sand.

And in the 1am sounds of solitude, I seek redemption. I seek solace in the dusty covers of my books. I seek peace in the fresh linen of my bed, tear stained every morning.
My pillows hate me. They cant dry themselves any longer. They cant be savaged.
My mirror hates me, because every glance bears hatred towards the face I see. The broken face of a broken girl.
The alone face of a lonely girl.
The cracks slowly start to form, like plaster being broken down by moisture. They widen into gullies through which rivers of my tears flow and flow.
By shower hates me for all the pain it washes away and all the pain it cant wash away.
My phone hates me for all the ****** prose my fingers fumble to type.
I hate me.

I need you, he says.
I do too. Or do I?
After the assaults upon my independence, my integrity.
My right to live a fulfilling life.
After all of it, it's me.
Just me.
Alone in a bedroom at 1am finding myself in words and phrases.
Words, phrases and the lack of appropriate punctuation.
Much like my life.
I was always miserable at judging the right location for a full stop.

My prayers have you
And then they have the heartbroken cries of a heartbroken woman
Asking for the pain to stop.

Asking for an answer. Asking for relief.
But it's mostly me saying
Ya Allah, I cant
Help me.
I cant
I cant
I cannot
I just cant.