I try not to look at the photographs of you and I, for the memories of us come rushing back and the fact that those days are over eats at me inside every day already. I don’t need the constant reminder of how the ship sank on us. I’m a fucked up guy who only wants a little piece of mind, and some comfort from your touch.
Lately I've been thinking about us. Looking back on our time together, reliving moments that got too real. Like that December night. You told me you were leaving. Not leaving me. That you were leaving. That was a life I couldn't lose. I replay that night when you were in that cold hospital far too often. It’s a night I wish I could forget. People told me I’m a hero, but I came too close to silence to be the person they think I am.
The guilt ate away for weeks until I saw you New Years Eve. While I was face first in the bowl unloading more than just verbal bile at you, you sat there and comforted me, but I’m beyond comfort. Beyond love. Beyond not having you. I keep imagining what life would be like if you did it. It’s a life I don’t want to live. It became too close to reality that night. I keep having this nightmare that you pulled it off, and I wake up screaming in the coldest sweat. Waking up from that, the thought of wiping my mind clean of you occurs. To enjoy the eternal sunshine of a spotless mind. I love all of the good times we had, but if you take yourself away from us all, I would go through that if it meant never having to relive it. Never having to wake up and remember that you’re gone.