I missed him. There was pain in my chest, right where my heart used to be. The pain would constrict my lungs; remove my ability to breathe. The air would stop flowing, my heart would start throbbing and I would gasp out his name over and over again, but he would never hear me.
Because he was gone.
Tears would pool in my eyes and without warning, slid down my puffy cheeks, never ending. I would feel like my body was closing in on me, the ache in my chest opening up and I would ball myself up on the floor tightly, desperate the close it back.
Because he was gone.
Images. Pictures. Memories. They would form in my head mocking me; taunting me with the blissfulness that once was true. They would swim around in plain sight but not within reach. Never within reach.
Because he was gone.
I would rock myself trying in vain to make them go away, but I would fall asleep instead, but not for long. The nightmare would invade my once dreamless state and present itself front and center to me replaying the last moments when I had him, and lost him all the same. I would cry myself awake and cry myself asleep.
Because he was gone.
I would try to hate him, oh how I would try. But I could never do it. He had given me too much, loved me too much, for me to regret any memory. I never spoke about him to my friends. I never tried to move on; because I couldn't no matter how much I wanted to, if I wanted to. I never allowed myself the luxury of thinking about him; not when there were so many people around. Only when the months became overbearing and so very lonely, did I lock myself in my room and open the memories. I would feel the emotions all over again; the absolute joy, the unforgettable love. I would see the fierce protectiveness he had for me, I would feel his gentle caresses and his even gentler kisses, all over again. I would feel absolute contentment and happiness and love and adoration.
But then, like a whip lash, the dark memories would leap over the bright ones, obstructing my view. They would seize me, and suffocate me. They would bring the self-hatred, the betrayal, the guilt, the pain, the everlasting torture. I would bawl my eyes out, thankful that Charlie wasn't home to hear it. I would pour out all my insecurities, all my confessions, my sufferings, and my hopelessness. When the crying quieted down, I would remain a sobbing mess on my bed; tangled in the sheets. I would sob out all the apologies I had in me. And then, as easy as it was to let myself go, I would bottle it up, stuff it down, push it back, and then go cook dinner all the while plastering a smile on my face like my world didn't just crumble down again in my room.
All because he was gone