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 fuck 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 rum. it’s always rum. 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.