Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: And no matter what I do, it still hurts.
To Last Another Day
I look at the picture I keep hidden under my bed (an awkward place to keep important photos, I'm sure). It's a surprisingly intimate picture. We had been together for several months by the point it was taken. He leaned over me, his naked chest pressing across my bare back. Our faces were still flushed from the sex we just had. He reached for the Polaroid camera he left the week previous and took our picture. In it, I look content; and he just looks so happy. (So happy to be with me.)
Fuck.
I miss him. I miss him so much it hurts. A physical ache inside my chest.
I want to be with him, and I can't. Because… he's not here. Even after a year, it's so hard to say, to even admit. Too many times have I heard a knock on my apartment door to expect it to open, a sound of sneakers being kicked into the corner, and a call of "Sasuke, did you remember to get more ramen? I'm starving!" Just to realize that it was the wind knocking the door into the frame.
And I don't want to be here anymore. In this bed, this room, apartment, city, country. (Life.) I don't to live without him anymore.