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I  miss him. I miss him a lot. I miss him more than I miss us.

I don’t want another lifetime. I want what I once had. 

I just want us.

I don’t care about explanations anymore. I don’t want to understand. I don’t want to accept, to heal, to try, to breathe. I don’t want to do any of it. I don’t care. I don’t want to care anymore. Why does it have to end like this? Why me? Why us? Why did we have to choose ourselves? Why couldn’t I just choose you and you choose me? Why does it always have to be right or wrong? Why can’t the world just let us be us? I’m sick. Exhausted. I’m not functioning. It’s heavy—heavier by the hour. It hurts. It really hurts, until I can’t even feel the hurt. My mind won’t let me. It shuts it down. It leaves me with nothing but logic. And I’m stuck. In this cycle. Over and over again. Writing this numbly.  Feeling just  fine . 

I am not sure who called 'me' without the bruise I made my home. But I am starting to do things I once stopped doing. Choosing what I once walked away from. Liking what I once let go of, as if it was never a part of me. It all feels fine, yet broken at the very same time.

I numb myself, as if it’s the only way to shun feeling devastated. The tears only stopped as the command in my head. The talk feels like work. And this weight in my chest just keeps pressing until I feel nauseous if I let myself feel it. I don’t want to scream though. I feel like I’m drowning in words, yet I stop reading, stop writing, stop feeling. They say it’s okay not to be okay. But the thing is, how do I allow myself to be okay? Guess tonight, I’ll just exist.