I miss you so viciously.
I always forget the tragedy of this feeling.

Instinct often overrides common sense,
leading me to craving your lips, your touch, your everything.
But most of all,
I miss your eyes.
Your eyes were the perfect hue of crushed aquamarine and sapphire stones.
Many times those eyes had to observe from the edges my sorrow and despair.
Now, I'm observing those eyes smiling, but I'm no longer the cause.

I made this choice, to leave you,
to leave all of our past behind me.
I crawled out of the ditch that was our relationship,
burying everything six feet under, where I couldn't dig it back up.
Late nights and late night thoughts brought me back to that ditch.
The absence of you has led me back to the days when the smile you have now was because of me.
The absence of you carves out what has been left of my sanity and I terrorize myself with my impeccable recall.

Six days ago, I was on top of the world,
while simultaneously existing beneath a sheet of ice covering a pond.
Without your permission,
I fell back into your aquamarine and sapphire eyes.
I was mesmerized by the remnants of our connection.

But the time has passed for any confessions outside of these words.
Six hundred and fifty miles will soon separate us and put a strain on me.
Because of you and my woven tragedy,
I'm gaining an ache directly below my breast bone.
It's barely there,
not at all visible to the naked eye.
But it's starting to cut just a little close,
getting much nearer to my throat.
It's clogging up with an ache that rivals the one growing just beneath my hard-won shell.

You've made your lasting impression on me and my nervous system.
Your eyes are forever imprinted on the insides of my eyelids,
unable to be rubbed away.

Now I'm just left with this chaotic pain,
and echoes of words screamed into my face.

I managed to survive the last week of September without you, still stung with disbelief.
I got through October dazed and drunk, smoking more than ever before.
Through November ended mistakes brought from October's drunken nights, but brought more pain than I could breathe through, or bleed out.
December flourished without you, made me believe that maybe this would all get easier.
January continued flourishing, but heavy bricks rained down upon my head, conjuring up wishes that you were here to help.
February started the distractions, the utter confusion, and brought back the inklings of pain.
Without you, I got through the endless amounts of stress that March dragged in and out of my heart, and I reached goals without you there to hold my hand.
But April, I narrowly escaped. I barely took a solid breathe that wasn't tinged with a thought of you all month. I didn't go a night without questioning your existence, and mine. Seeing you for the first time since that last week in September destroyed me.
And now, May, I know I can remain living without you, but it won't be without you on my mind. The memories of this month will haunt me, just like last month's haunted me. But I'll scream, cry, curse past the pain and walk into June with a confident smile.

Your hair was longer.
That's the one thing about you that is sticking in my mind.
That, and the fact that I've seen those jeans a million times.
But I still can't breathe when I think about it.

I dropped my eyes so quickly I went blind for a moment.
No words were said between us, the talking from the others filled the room far better.
I couldn't even look at you past the initial one when you waltzed right into my profusely damaged psyche.
Your voice in my ears was an angry grater to my nerves.
Your reaction to me there mirrored mine:
Nonchalant indifference.
We no longer exist to each other.

I finally got what I've wanted for seven months.
I finally know you still exist, that you're still alive.
I have some solace in that, but mostly just stunned disbelief.
I was in the Twilight zone, my life for the past seven months flashing before my eyes and going right down the drain.
The effect you had on me was a **** poor excuse for the one you used to have on me.
But my heart still ricocheted against my core and my torso was enveloped in horrendously painful flames.

I couldn't utter a single word to you, my thoughts ping-ponging around my head.
Or maybe the reason is because I have nothing left to say to you.
My words have dried up just like your affection long ago.
I have no words for you.
No words would justify your actions, nor mine.
No words would even come close to actually portraying what I've felt because of you.
The pain, the guilt, the betrayal, the pure, agonizing rage, the exhaustion, the inability to eat.
Truth be told, I'd rather experience all that than bow down at your feet anyway.

I'm getting this nagging feeling.
I don't know whether it's because in the pit of my stomach, I know you don't approve.
Or if it's the fact that you're not responding, and I'm worrying my fears will be confirmed if I call you.
Or if it's this niggling little thought that wormed its way into my brain, the same one I desperately hate.

You would think I'd learned that this time of year, when I (possibly) gain someone/happiness,
I'm destined (doomed) to lose someone/happiness.
It's happened a little late this year,
Or maybe it just happened a little early last year.
I just want you to talk to me.
I just want to know you're okay.
Normally when you're not, you tell me.
But once again, something's changing, and I can't help but feel happy despite my growing shame.

Your sleek, falling apart car.
I'm constantly on the lookout for it, anxiously awaiting the day when we bump into one another after all this time.
We don't live in that big of a city, and yet it hasn't happened.
I'm in constant fear of that occurrence, but I'm sickly anticipatory.

Today I followed a car that I could swear was yours for three miles.
It didn't have your signature license plate border, but I thrusted into auto-pilot and followed.
I followed past where I should have, hoping for a glimpse of your face, or even hand, so I would know you still exist.
So I would know you still exist outside of my mental concentration camp that I can't decide if you set up.
Or did I?

I craved seeing you.
I craved the whole feeling that seeing you might bring.
But I know it would only bring what I ached with after following whom might or might not have been you: dissatisfaction.
Dissatisfaction with you, with me, with the fleeting flings I've attempted to make myself feel whole with again.
Dissatisfaction with the strongly held belief, deep in my heart of hearts, that you were someone special.
You were someone special who I couldn't stop from slipping out of my grasp like sand.

The entire time, following that small black car, my heart was pounding on the inside of my ribcage.
I was on the verge of a cataclysmic breakdown of epic proportions.
I so wanted that driver to be you that I could almost smell your aroma of body spray and  hookah smoke.
I so wanted that driver to be you that I made her every movement similar to one you would make while driving to the amusement park or to get ice cream or as you would drive away at 1 a.m.

brian, sweetheart.

i'm sorry nothing ever seems to help.
i'm sorry i'm not a better friend.
i know i've promised to try harder,
but you need to stop trusting me.

you've stopped calling.
you've stopped texting.
and **** if i don't miss you.
i'll hold my tongue, however.

i won't let myself reply to your, "heya."
and i won't let myself answer your phone calls.
because i know there is nothing i can do for you.
because i know talking to me will make it worse.

so take your pills, and talk to sherry.
fix things with amy, and go back to school.
start sleeping again, hang out with nathan more.
get yourself a ******* job, okay?

you know i love you dearly.
and i do this for your own good.
don't stop calling, texting.
i won't ever answer, but.

i like to know you're still alive.
i like to know you're pushing through.
i like to know you're holding on, at least.
can you do that, for me? please?

steady yourself,
you have to stop drinking.
aren't you sick of getting dizzy?
being short of breath?
aren't you sick of sleeping on floors?
steady yourself,
you have to stop crying.
aren't you sick of wiping tears?
listening to the same pathetic ****?
aren't you sick of flipping your pillow?
steady yourself.

I met him on an autumn night,
leaves of brown that dropped from height.
We walked for hours until day,
he wanted more, but what could I say?

I needed him more than he needed me,
the autumn was nearly over and I didn’t feel free.
I left it for a while for trust to be gained,
I felt over powered with being detained.

All I ever wanted was to be loved,
I was at the back of the line, I had been shoved.
He had no respect or the courage to be caring,
He was out of his mind, reckless and daring.

I tried to help for us to get back on track
He only ever wanted to be on the smack.
This was never how I dreamed it to be,
I regret every minute of that walk by the sea.

I now walk with my head held high,
as I was stronger when I left that Guy.