I've been watching you pull away from me, observing the casual growth of the chasm between us.  I miss you and you're in the same room; I feel as though I'm dreaming a slow and tumultuous and miserable dream in which I lose you every morning again and again and again.  There is a riot in my soul - a battle greater than any I've faced with my own bloody fists and sore bones.  I feel weak and uncertain, and the furious power that haunts my skeleton is nothing compared to the abysmal instability of not having you.

My lungs - which previously grew stronger with every inhale, working constantly, quietly, readily - flutter and falter, unable to draw in a fully formed breath.  My knees no longer support my weight, I shake and stumble, grasping at imaginary lifesavers as I drown in this chaotic madness.  My mind is nothing but a void, sucking in my rationale and spitting back out the chewed up remnants of the man I used to be.

I know not which parts of me have changed, I cannot go back and find where I was the last time you met my eyes without any fear or trepidation.  I know that there was a time in which your honey eyes could smile at me from across the room, glowing like two small suns and beckoning me closer, drawing me into your warmth.  When our eyes chance a meeting now I see a desert in your irises - a wasteland, barren and unforgiving.  

We are two different creatures trying to find middle ground but it seems our languages do not bridge any gaps.  Who has changed the most?  You or I?  The question is a torture to me; worse than bone-saws and pressure clamps.  In your palm you hold everything, and I can do nothing but watch in petrified silence as you slowly, deliberately, murderously crush it beneath the force of your closing fist.

You loved me, once, not so long ago.  But you have forgotten, and my ability to string together a coherent sentence halts in my throat, swelling like a tumor, clotting and blocking the syllables that might have saved us. 

The End

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