There is nothing more painful than a fall.

First comes the shock. Where you were is no longer where you are. There was an expectation, something you thought supported you until it suddenly didn't. The dip in your stomach terrifies you and the bubble in your throat chokes you, and you cannot control what happens next.

Then there's the impact. The force of it reverberates through you, like a door being slammed. Pieces are splintered inside of you--your foundation is cracked. It's like a toothache in your bones.

An abrasian, perhaps, where your skin has met friction. The place where you have fallen has ripped you open. You bleed, which honestly will be the easiest part.

It's the ache that comes afterwards that seems to hurt the most, the itch of the scab as it forms over the missing skin and broken bone-- a constant reminder that what you thought you knew changed, and was something different.

And finally the realization that this can happen again. And again. And again. Because falling is sudden, unprecedented, uncontrollable. It happens when people stumble or miss a step, and sometimes when they're pushed.

You're only a ghost to me now.

You were only ever a ghost,

rattling chains and slamming doors,

fleshless and without warmth.

I miss you.

I always

have.