I miss you. And I don't know why.

At night I lay in bed and cry about you. Cried myself to sleep three days last week.

And I could tell you about it, but why?

To what end?

Ours?

It's hard to end what has never really started. Useless to hit the breaks on a relationship that never left the starting line.

It's obvious you don't wonder what you miss, when there have been so many opportunities but we've never so much as kissed.

The cards keep telling me to leave you alone. Not forever, but a pause.

Patience has never been a close friend of mine. I'm always mentally finishing your sentences so I can start replying.

She has more rights than me, and maybe that's how it's meant to be. My supervised visitation pales in comparison to her full custody.

But you're no child, and it's a choice of yours not to be mine. A choice I need to keep in mind.

It used to be habit, natural, to reach out to you. I broke the habit, unlike how you broke me down, as it went quietly. I should have by then recognized all the signs of a controlling woman. A would be mother figure who I had muddied waters with and who lashed out at me in her hurt. I think you thought that if you could just control me I could never hurt you again and I think I thought that maybe I deserved that. It turns out I didn't. Even the guilty don't deserve to die they say, and there was I kneeling with your gun in my mouth, choking on the barrel but too afraid of being alone to spit it out.

You brutalized me in every way but physically and I let you because I need to be needed more than the average bear. I need to feel wanted to feel like I deserve to be alive. I'm verifiably fucked up from the experiences I had already lived through when I met you and I let you make it worse. It's actually not all that surprising turns out that's what most people do.

Even your self destruction begged for my attention and for the blame to fall at my feet. Yes I watched your world crumble and felt some quiet satisfaction because for all that you lectured me endlessly, you made the mistakes and not just small ones. I have every opportunity blooming in front of me and you're staring at a fallow field full of dreams planted but never tended. How can you expect to be handed a good life if you've never once tried anything different? We're built for seeing patterns I better than most, and yet you made the same choices and whined when you wound up in the same hole riddled boat.

You're attracted to cruelty and I can't claim immunity I would have married you wouldn't I? I would have laid at your feet and found myself happy there if allowed. But even someone who can accept being underrepresented and can accept being the quite easily handled friend, eventually begins to feel stepped on.

I would say that I'm nothing if not agreeable and that wouldn't be totally a lie. While I do on some matters have a hair trigger, I've known few personally slower to temper than I. And you find fault with me that I don't express emotions immediately. I cannot bear to be angry or apart of conflict. So I shutter my hurt and shoulder my feelings until I'm cool and calm enough to discuss.

Pretty pink and pastels, eggs both dyed and candy, a big event for a dead man. A man died and born again how great he is. Isn't it just rotten though how his foolish followers have stolen the trappings of another religion to decorate their own spring holiday. Rabbits and eggs aren't about you, leave some room on the calendar for someone else. At least the winter holiday you bothered to rename. Lazy I think, most of you too busy to even learn beyond half ass reading one version of one book so badly translated and white washed that you think your Mary was white and virginal?

I keep telling people I'm crazy

Crazy seems silly compared to insane

Insane the new, shiny, modern crazy

Crazy from the way we are expected

Expected to live our lives

It is relevant because people are realizing

Realizing a present virus causes absence

Absence of needs had by all those

They call it Skin Hunger

Skin Hunger seems appropriate

Appropriately horrifying enough

Enough to convey the message

Messages sent in some anger

Angry those who suffered before

Before it was a shared grief

Grief seems to boiling over

Over, our lives it seems.

I keep hoping for something to make it better. It keeps not coming. You admited your crime to me, and said that you are angry. I can somewhat understand your anger at being betrayed. But I can't help but wonder if you feel guilt or remorse or understand what you did. I wish I could ask you my million questions.

If I charged you rent for the places you occupy in my mind you'd be penniless. That's really just a dark somewhat different way to say I think about you a lot. I wish I could pay pest control to sweep the wisps of your voice from head while I lie in bed and try not to dream of you. Your eyes are so fucking blue I'm listening to Billie Eilish while thinking of you. But you told me what you did, and I know how it feels to be done that way. So why can't I make these thoughts of you go away?

Sometimes it gets tiring, when your only real relief isn't always so relieving.

Stress, anxiety, and depression are wolfhounds always nipping my heels. Usually it heals me to some degree to just go back to bed but lately nightmares plague me, and I'm starting to feel unsafe in my own head. Maybe it's their eyes tracking my every movement every moment, or the way that panic curls up on my chest. Their jealousy about their lack of opportunity to bother me in bed drives them to haunt my dreams with their howls piercing my skull. The barrier between life and death is always thin, but thinner still when you're being nosed down the path.