I miss you. It hurts. I left you. But it was like leaving a sepulcher. I miss that tomb. Like a womb. You. The regime. Knowing my place. Not knowing my place. The unexpected. Expecting it. Shocked by it. Numbed by it. Soothed by it. The regime. The blame. The fear. And the guilt. You gave me a reason to feel it. Be it. Taste it. Believe it. Become it.
Now I simply doubt myself. My thoughts. My actions. My inactions. No regime. Constant swirl of enmity turned inward. Your reign obliterated my own primal fears and comforted me in the blanket of yours. All wrapped up snug. Like a tomb.
I love. I live. I die without you. I died with you. Where were you. Lying next to me. Where are you. Now. Absent yet present. Who are you (with) now. Are they good enough?
I wish you were here. I wish we were us. I wish it were real. The truth hurts. I want it to be my fault so I can fix it. Us. You.
Logic stabs my heart and says no. Stay NC. GOSO. New stuff I’ve learned. Wish I could tell you. They don’t replace our inside jokes, fun, familiarity, security, bond or womb like tomb. Not even close.
But you are the enemy. They say. Whom I love and yet committed treason to. I know. So I can’t tell you.
One day I will be ok, they say. They only used to be you. I don’t know who they are and I certainly wish I cared about or believed they as implicitly as I did you.
Yours forever & never,