chapter forty one

"I drive past that empty house sometimes, I wonder if I'll ever see you again. If you'll ever see me again. The lump in my throat is enough for me to turn around but I wish you'd see me somewhere and be brave enough to call out my name.

The goodbye I didn't get to say lays crumpled up in a letter and in the texts I haven't sent to you. The agony of knowing you lay in someone's arms like you did in mine, is enough for me to have blinked my eyes clear of this fog.

But oh god, my pens bleed onto paper, my thumbs bruise up against the keyboard. You are everything I write and i have become the ink that bleeds. No matter how much I struggle, even breaking through my shell, I leak all over the paper, still bleeding.

And when the paper is flipped, the ink spots prettier than words ever could. They ask you to wipe me down but you too, are helpless as you gesture vaguely with your