Pain is begging yourself to not cry just so you can come out of your room without looking like a mess. Begging yourself to stay strong when you see them walk by and not let them see the tears that manage to escape. Pain is trying not to cry in the shower for the hundredth time in two days. Wrapping your arms around yourself because you feel like you'll fall to pieces where you stand if you don't. Pain is listening to the song you used to share with them while bawling your eyes out because the memories that haunt you won't seem to stop. Pain is walking past your favorite coffee shop because you can't stand to see the table where you used to sit with them and chat for hours, letting your drinks go cold. Pain is refusing to listen to their favorite band because the image of their smile is seared in your mind, pain is refusing to watch horror movies alone or even with friends because the memory of pulling them closer during the scariest parts hurts too much. Pain is waking up with tears streaming down your face and crying even harder when you wake up alone and remember how it was just a dream but it felt so real, like they were actually kissing you, or holding you and telling you how they regret letting you go. Pain is clutching your chest when you wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare, only to remember they're not there to chase it away with warmth and kisses. Pain is remembering everything you saw and did together and still smiling, still breathing, still living, even though every breath hurts to the core.
