You're so cold. Your skin is like ice, and your eyes are empty of the fire that once burned inside them. There's no one to blame but myself. If I hadn't let you follow me. If I hadn't needed you so desperately, you wouldn't have given up your passion, your flame. You don't tell me. You don't have to tell me. You dragged me out of the abyss and lost a part of yourself in the process.

It wasn't just your love for me that you sacrificed. You hold a camera now, like it's just an object and not an extension of yourself. You only smile when I'm looking at you. You move through the world like the echo of a ghost and that should be me, not you. I'm the ghost, I'm the one that was broken and pieced back together. In the time between life and death and life, the cracks are showing again. I don't have it in me to watch you go through life an empty shell. I never wanted this, and I know it's my fault. My fault for trying to hold onto you, and trying to escape into the world at the same time.

Here, alone with you I pretend to sleep. You lay next to me, staring at the ceiling, staring through the ceiling into the empty space beyond it. Whatever goes through your mind you keep to yourself, a private council I'm no longer privy to. Your breathing changes, growing fast. Something glistens in your eyes, a trail of light down your cheeks. That's something. More than you were before and that gives me a spark of hope. I know what I must do.

You watch me pack the next morning, your eyes unfocused as you follow my movements. You don't protest. You don't argue. You remain silent as a stone, and only a little more alive. But you deserve this much. Deserve to watch me go instead of having me flee in the middle of the night. I hesitate at the door, and look back at you. I don't know if I want you to say something, or not.

"Are you coming back?"

"I know what you gave up for me, Sam." I let go of the door, and cross the room in just a few steps. Your hands are cold when I take them with my own. "But I know it's still there. You're still you, deep down where it matters. I'm not going to waste the chance you gave me. I'll come back to you."

It won't be empty handed. All my scars, all the demons nipping at my heels, none of them will stop me from making you whole again. You gave me life; I'll give you your soul back.

My answer seems to satisfy you, but your voice is shaking when you reply. "I know this should hurt. I can't feel it. I love you, but I can't. I want to hate you, but I can't."

"Does that scare you?" Your admission is a relief to me. That you're willing to share it with me. That you're willing to acknowledge it.

Your voice shakes. "I think so."

I study you, the quiver in your lips, the moisture in your eyes. There's emotion there, buried deep. It's something.

"Are you running away?"

"I'm not running, Sam. Some day you'll be whole again, and that's what matters most to me. And if you… if you want to hate me, I can live with that."

I turn away from you. A choked sound follows me to the door, and when I close it behind me I hear your muffled sobs. I love you. I don't deserve you. I ran away for so long, searching for the pieces to put myself back together. You were one of those pieces all along. And when I fill that hole in your heart, it will be worth it to see you whole, even if you hate me.