i.
it's one am and i miss you. i take a swig of my cheap vodka (smirnoff, of course). it burns a
raw trail down my throat and into the empty pit of my stomach. i look down to where my legs dangle, alone, off the roof of our shed. the night is disgustingly perfect and
i want to stab something. because you're even in the fucking air- I can taste the motel rooms and plastic champagne flutes and i can't bear it. i almost laugh at the irony of it all. you were always the needy one. clingy one. but here i am now, the heartless little bitch, still holding on. i close my eyes and let myself drown in the silence.
ii.
it's three am and I still miss you. the vodka's all gone but it hasn't done its job. i feel like i'm slowly suffocating in the darkness draped over me. i struggle to breathe but the
cars shush me from the distance and i figure nobody cares anyways. and for a second, i imagine i hear your voice. so warm and so rough and when you whispered my name- god, how i loved that voice.
iii.
it's ten am and i miss you. i stayed home today because i couldn't bear seeing you. a chunk of my left side has been torn out and my bruised
edges hurt whenever i try to sew myself back together.
iv.
it's two am and i miss you, goddammit. i'm back at the shed with a fresh bottle of smirnoff. i feel needy and clingy and it just about kills me that i'm
unwanted. i hear your voice again, and this time it's real. it's you and your lanky limbs and your mussed-up hair, and for an instant, i think you're still holding on, too. but then i see the pale, delicate fingers connected to yours and i realize. you fit together
so sickeningly well. she giggles and i swipe away my bitter tears replacing them with a smirk.
