So..I don't have much to say..except for an apology for not updating my other stories. People, I am not quitting them, my mind is just really caught up with other things right now but I really had to write something to get some stress of my chest. I am putting this up in like an impulse, so I will probably remove this after a day or so, but until then please enjoy this it's very weird and vague and you can interpret this however you want.

So here you are again.

Did you miss the sterile bedsheets,

the friendly nurses

and the IKEA clock so much?

I'm sorry,

that was cruel.

Get well soon.

I guess this is the end of our conversation,

which could be a little less one-sided if you would just accept that I'm here again,

standing on the edge of your bed.

You better accept that I'm here,

always with you,

since I can't seem to find the strenght to leave you,

even though I really should.

I should've left

when you destroyed your own soul

and left me with the empty remains that were once my husband.

But yet I'm here,

ready to hold your hand if you get scared of the doctors,

or give you a kiss if you feel unloved,

like the weak

coward

I

am.

I don't understand why I am here,

because you aren't even beside me right now.

You are floating somewhere in the void,

not far but yet not close,

upside down,

left,

right,

everywhere,

in your own very special universe.

I wonder if your friends are there too.

You know,

the ones who visited your room and your mind at night,

leaving you giggling,

screaming and crying.

Do you remember those times, Arthur ?

Do you remember

how many times I caught you when you fell,

only to get snapped or snarled at?

Do you remember

how many times you were so angry

it was frightening,

leaving me against the wall,

blocking your punches?

Do you know

how many tears I shed for you?

No you don't.

Because you never noticed.

You only wanted one thing.

Well I hope you get what you want.

I hope you suffocate

in fairy dust.

No I don't.

Otherwise I would've left

when I found you on the bathroom floor,

eyes red.

I wouldn't be sitting here,

shedding another ocean of tears for you,

while you just squeeze your eyes

shut

and cover your ears,

afraid to see what you've done

to

me.

You look like a child,

trying to hide under the covers,

sweet and innocent,

but I don't want you to be

like

that.

I want you to be you again,

grumpy and a little bit shy.

I want us to be us again,

when our name calling was still teasing

and the insults were playful.

I want to go back to that,

but we can't

because you are in here for what feels like the hundredth time,

pale and

thin and

dead.

We can't,

because the kids get their goodnight kisses from other people now,

because we weren't good enough anymore.

But be honest,

how could I clean the house,

when it's such a mess inside?

We can't,

because you don't kiss me

or

touch me,

because you are caught up in a haze of dust.

And I hate you,

I hate you so much.

I hate you so much I want to yank that fucking tube out of your arm,

and just watch your eyes widen with

realisation

that I took the only thing that kept you alive from you,

in retaliation

for all that you've done

to

me.

But I won't.

Because otherwise

I would've left

when you asked the doctors to let me see you

and I wouldn't be sitting here,

giving the doctors and nurses a well-practised smile

while everything inside is

crumbling,

burning,

falling.

And it hurts.

It hurts so damn much that I can't save you,

show you that your perfect world is an illusion,

and that you are slowly killing yourself,

snort

by

snort,

pill

by

pill.