At a Loss

I still sleep in your old t-shirt. I know that I shouldn’t, just like how I knew I shouldn’t look at old pictures of us before crumbling into pieces. On the outside I’m gritty and tough and nothing ever touches me, but for some reason your face can tear down my walls within seconds. I miss you, and not in the casual, occasional ache for your presence kind of way, but in the constant, agonizing, hole-cut-through-the-middle-of-my-stomach kind of way. You leaving me was like a tornado rampaging a crossed a small town, you destroyed everything and left nothing. The only difference is after five months the town would be starting to rebuild, but for some reason I’m still just shattered windows and fallen buildings. Maybe it’s because every time I think of you it starts to rain. I’m completely emotionally unavailable and the very thought of love makes me sick to my stomach, yet I know it’s only because I still love you as deeply as I did when you laid in my arms every night. I just keep asking myself how I could have managed to lose my best friend, but more importantly how can you replace someone when they were more a part of you than you? “It’s time to move on with your life” they tell me, but up until now I had no idea that you and my life were separate. So I still sleep in your t-shirt and reread our old texts and you sleep with her and it tears me apart. I know everything about you and yet you are the furthest from mine that you’ve ever been. All I have are memories, the sweetest poison I’ve ever tasted, and I’m left desperately grasping at the thought that you’re out there dreaming of me too. But I know that you aren’t, and the thought stabs me like a razor blade over and over again, ripping wounds in my flesh that I try to heal with cigarettes and new lips but the relief is only temporary. My wounds are leaking blood and suddenly I’m at a loss for words because all that seems to come out is I miss you.