Nervous pangs and tattering thoughts
The impending terror of my dreams lay before me.
Psychology tells physiology to shut its mouth but biology gives in:
Close my eyes and count to three
A shaky picture flickers into my mind’s eye
All the things I could’ve done
All the ways I could’ve saved you
All the sensations I miss about the way you combed your fingers through my hair.
And all the fights.
The replays of all of our fights.
I wake up in a cold sweat
Tears tumbling in a slow surge from my broken heart.
My hands tingle and shake in a way that makes punching a wall seem rational.
And oh please no
I remember all over again.
The sweatshirt that played ping-pong between our closets won’t ever hang up in yours again.
Won’t ever become saturated in your aroma.
How I wish that wasn’t true.
Putting it on feels like one last hug.
How I wish it still smelled like you.
But until the day comes again that you and I may bask in Our Beloved Aura
I’ll just count the days down
Dreading the sleepless nights
Replaying all the things I didn’t do.