December 11th, 2013

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...