I drank a whole bottle of wine by myself – a gift from my brother on his wedding day, a half-case of Cotes Du Rhone, specially shipped in for me – and still, that was not enough.
I long for you in ways verbalized and ways so elemental, so primal, that words fail – words fail and deeds fail, wishes and dreams fall flat, incapable of conveying, explicitly or fantastically, this yearning I have for you and for us – for an “us” to exist and to continue existing.
I am moving on. I am surviving; I am even living. I must! I’ve no choice. You’ve given me none.
Still. I yearn. I ache. I hurt. I… I imagine a different ending. Ha! I imagine that it didn’t end, that this is a nightmare, a long-running one that has to, eventually (it must, it absolutely must) will end.
Prove me right? Hell, prove me wrong! Prove me something. Lift me out, if you can, if I can, out of limbo, out of this purgatory of the heart.