More Than AnythingMature

It’s hard being the one always left behind. Wondering where he is, what he’s doing right now. Is she with him? Is he fucking her? Is he thinking about me? Is he fucking her while thinking about me? You can drive yourself half mad with thoughts like these constantly running through your mind. So I try desperately to distract myself from him. When we’re not together I struggle to keep myself busy. I go for runs and work out like a fiend. I study until I’m exhausted. I write endlessly. I bury myself in other people’s worries and burdens and sorrows so I don’t have to think about my own. Yet at night, when I go to bed alone, sleep persistently evades me, dancing lithely just out of my reach as I tell myself repeatedly not to think of him. When I do finally fall asleep he’s in my dreams, the light of his strength and his love and his beauty illuminating the hours of darkness. Every morning, perhaps because he’s seemed so close in my sleep, I wake up expecting him to be there. And every morning, I’m consumed by this overwhelming feeling of loss when I realise he’s not. My love is intensified by his absence, and not having him makes me want him even more.

Apart, time seems to creep past slightly faster when I’m not watching each second tick slowly by. And yet, when we’re together, the moments seem to speed up, time flashes by in a blur and before I know it, it’s time to say goodbye again; my least favourite part of the day. He’s going home to someone else, and I’m going home to an empty bed. I want more than anything to be the girl he comes home to. It’s this all consuming, desperately miserable ache, a stabbing pain right in the space where my heart used to be, a hollow, ill feeling in my stomach. I don’t have the words to describe how much it hurts. Yet ending it is not an option. No matter how much it hurts now, it would be unbearable if he wasn’t in my life at all. And so I wait for him, each moment an eternity. Maybe I’ll be waiting forever. But maybe I won’t…

The End

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