An: this one is angst I'm sorry
He never made it easy. Honestly, he was a catastrophe. A beautiful, dreadful catastrophe. A hurricane that pulled me in and didn't let me loose until he wore himself to death.
He never meant to make it hard, however. When I had him his only goal was to make things as easy as possible on me. But it wasn't possible.
He had a lot of problems. From smaller things like biting his nails and smoking, to drinking himself to sleep every night and getting so fucked up on drugs he didn't remember who I was. I tried to help him- at least I think I did. In hindsight, I'm not too sure. I was scared. I was scared of losing him. I was terrified if I tried to intervene he'd get so angry and leave. But me not intervening is why I lost him.
You never know what you have until it's gone.
The night of the incident was like any other. It was late, around 1am. I was watching TV and he was sketching. And I must have fallen asleep for a few minutes, because when I woke up Gerard was gone and the only reply I got to me calling out his name was the hum of sirens downstairs.
I knew what happened. I was still horrified of the confirmation.
Things haven't been the same. I haven't cleaned in weeks. His coffee cup is still sitting in the sink, waiting for him to clean it. His toothbrush is still in the holder. His clothes are all neatly folded from the last time I did his laundry.
He left me. But it hurts just as much as every day that he was here.
Loving him was like cutting my fingers off.
Losing him was like cutting my fingers off.
