All her mind could think of was him. It was unhealthy, it was addicting. He owned her. If she could keep deluding herself into thinking he was still there, it could give her the strength to not lay down on the gravel in this pouring rain, and hope she got sick enough to die.
He was her everything. The whole world could come crashing down and she would be staring into the distance, him. The clouds that formed, the rain that plopped down on her umbrella-less form, her chattering teeth, her pink nose and the shuddering cold, him.
She couldn't wait to open her small, musty apartment door and climb into her warm bed and embrace him. Her love, Her desire. The man who could ruin her or give her purpose.
She shakily opened the door, running to her bedroom to see her love, awaiting for her with longing in his eyes.
To see.
But she saw all that was left of him that hadn't been thrown out by her pestering friend. A couple of his clothes, unwashed for months that she couldn't bear to throw in the wash and risk losing the very faint linger of his scent, his phone, bottles he'd drank from and a lonely funeral invite which lay face-down.
For he was no more.
