How much can you miss a person before seeing them doesn’t make it worth it? Are you allowed to hurt this much – is the next meeting going to justify the pain you feel now? I can’t tell if, as the number gets smaller and fewer hours separate our meeting, it gets any easier. The weight of expectation is pricking holes down my arteries and it’s getting harder to breathe. If I see you and you can’t fix me, I’m going to fall apart.
I’ve weaved myself into a trap of cliched writing. The stereotypical debate is as follows: Is it easier to let go or to hold on. And I can’t let go – I don’t want to. But this pent up frustration and anger, like a wasp stinging me every time some semblance of hope crops up on the horizon; I’m not sure how long more I can take.
So I grip onto the silken thread you’ve left for me to hold onto. They say a spider’s web is stronger than you could ever expect from something so delicate you know? I’ll drag myself up, time and time again, a divide cracking me in half and I’m not sure if it’s physical or my own shortcomings.
Your happiness wraps me up like a warm bath that keeps getting hotter, searing my skin and I’m burnt. Charcoal flakes off me and in the morning I’m new for an imaginary instance.