There are nail marks on the inside of my hands. Little skin crescents.
I wake up with headaches each morning from all the teeth-grinding and cheek-biting and chasing-of-you.
My limbs ache restlessly and my heart breaks incessantly and I long to--please let me--catch you. To see you and touch you.
I am impossibly frustrated with how very badly I need you.
The impossibility of this, of course, is agonizing. I hate that you have all the best parts of me. Without you, I'm not the person I want to be.
My stomach churns, and in my throat there is a lump--a choked down mass. a sound. a syllable. your name. I fight to keep it down all day.
What have you done to me?
There are miles between us but you haven't moved a mile from my brain. Haven't drained a mile from my veins.
I am sick with you.
I want to believe there is a remedy--something more permanent than the salve of old memories and the purposeful pill-popping to forget.
I want to want to be done with it, yet...
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