even if I wanted, I don't know that I could ever forget you.
where would I even begin?
because you are in everything, my love. every line on my wrist, every word that I write, every face that I see.
and how could I even try?
because all I have left is this, darling. this loss, this grief, this memory.
I guess I'm still waiting for the day it doesn't hurt anymore.
for the day when I wake up and an angry, aching ghost of you isn't pressing down into my chest, smiling with a grin that my heart has memorised as yours.
(all my demons have your smile.)
but every day it's the same.
the pressure weighing down on my heart is still there. the little voice in my head screaming jump! jump! jump! when I'm teetering on the railing of my balcony is, too.
and every day I go to bed willing for the next morning to be different. the next day, next month, next lifetime.
except every day I go to bed wondering if there will even be a next day.
----
sometimes, I wonder if all this pain is worth it.
but then I look at your face, and I'm ready to go through hell for you.
YOU ARE READING
doomsday
Short Storyon the seventh day of the sixth month, my world ended. the journey of destruction begins here. "and you come away with a great little story/ of a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore you" - t.s.
