The inebriation I've succumbed my being into as if to gain the strength to hold the weight of my counterpart's world off her shoulders is licking my veins into a sleep-like numb, my body moving slower and slower with each step my feet take up the stairs. I feel as if lead has substituted the place where the steady flow of blood should be and all of it is nestled in my shoes, but I know the loneliness of my room is the cause of this feeling. My heart throbs in slow aching motions, the crimson that should be wrestling energy through my body intercepted by the alcohol I've downed over and over in hopes that I'd forget this exact devastation - as intoxicated as I am, I'm as sober as I'll ever be, with the burden of unvoiced, self-judgement goading me deeper into the confines of a room I've spent my entire album-recording process in, wallowing in self-pity until even I can't bear to hear the same name slipping from my lips anymore as they crack and bleed from the lack of a kiss that I would gladly replace water with any day while I lay croaking out a request to be heard, a simple ear to listen in as I cry about a love I shouldn't feel. There's something so beautiful, so horrible and so addicting about being in pain that nobody else can see. You want someone to hold you, to notice your suffering. You want someone to understand, and above all, to empathise with you. You either hate the person causing the hurt or you hate yourself for loving them, and I'm stuck in-between. She's spent our whole career as a band spinning out the words I can't take to hear, the words I haven't ever seen the cause of. The realisation that there's something bothering her into writing these songs practically tears my heart right out of my chest, right along with the ribs threatening to collapse on top of it, leaving me as breathless as if I'd spent my time crying with her. I can tell when she's trying her best to hide it, and that's what's hurting me the most. I've spent my entire life with her from the very beginning; we've shared beds, friends, classmates, and now I'm isolated to watch as she crumbles, hastily wrapping her arms around the lungs that crack and tremble under exposure to the prying eyes and eager ears, listening in to her every word in hopes of deciphering her mixed messages that even her sister can't figure out. She's hiding under the burden of something that I want to claw away from her; I want to push myself between this problem and hug her to my chest, allowing whatever problem to tackle me headlong instead. I would do it if it meant she could breathe free for a second. I would take every strain on her and hold it forever just to see her smile again. Why can't she tell me? What is it? I want to shake her until she opens her wet eyes, but her fingers wrap around my arms as she bows her head against my neck, her sobs shaking her body into a frenzy as she grips me like I'm the only life raft keeping her afloat, and I can sense the desperation in her gasps as she tries to convey her pain. She's so close to breaking and the knife in my chest twists with a painful push in as I try to envelope her in my arms, only to have her push me away and curl up to herself, and then I'm left to watch, my own tears falling from my line of sight to clear the way for fresh embodiments of our connection splitting further apart the more she shoves me away, holding her problems to herself as it kills her slowly inside. I can feel it now, suffocating me like nothing ever has before. I can watch, and I can try to reach out, but each time I do, she's growing further away, and there's nothing I can do… and I've never felt so powerless.
"Sara…"