every waking moment that is mercilessly eaten away from my existence without you creates such a temporary hollowness in me that i can’t explain.
when monday mornings are shoved upon me once again by the buzzing of my alarm clock, that sun i sit up to without you by my side burns every inch of my skin that it touches. i’m sickened. curled up there in my sheets i see the sunlight stretch further across my room from the blinds of my window like a disease. i don’t want to get up. the alarm continues buzzing. from my every breath that leaves me heaves a thought in my mind that plays like an old worn-out broken record: i don’t want to. i don’t want to. i don’t want to. i don’t want to. sometimes i pray that one day the warmth and the comfort of the sheets on my bed will be strong enough to pin me down and lull me back to sleep.
one more sluggish day to drag through, one more hollow smile to my piers, one more harsh meeting between my forehead and the walls of my room. “4 more days,” we say.
rinse and repeat.
then, every friday, for 2-and-a-half days and 2 nights I get to part from it all. i stumble off of the bus and once i see you standing there by your parked car with open arms, it all stops. i get to hastily run towards you and feel your embrace close in around me again. your breath brushes against my cheeks and your sight is mixed into a love-driven gaze with mine. that’s what makes my hollowness throughout the week so temporary. the sight of your face before my eyes and your presence filling me and the air around us completely. it brings my soul up and makes me whole again.
2-and-a-half days to be with you. air filled with smoke and laughter and the aromas of good food. it’s a mess around us but it’s the people that makes it feel like everything is in it’s place. i’m in my place. somewhere i’ve found where i belong.
2 nights with you, not only by my side, but in it. the fragments of our existence entirely intertwined in those moments alone. just together. the moon is up and we’re settled in eachother’s arms as we should be. home.
the dreaded third night inches it’s way into present. you drive away without me and i’m left with tears again. the hollowness gives way with every inch that you drive further from me.
”just 5 more days” we say.
rinse and repeat.
what a god-awful healthy hygiene.
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