How can my trembling hands even describe to you how much I miss you, how sorry I am for everything. I want to absorb all the worlds darkness, all the past, the present, and future mishaps. I want to die in a showering of light from an implosion of evils. Like a negative firework.
There are billions of others who can write the words I can't connect with better timing, placement, and passion. I haven't had the time or the heart to even try lately.
Is it my immense empathy that I feel as weak as your soul just holding on to the threads of what is currently certain? You are all I have.
You are all that I have in this world, I have lost everything and anyone else. No object could replace you. While that sounds whole hearted it is equally tragic:
I feel each word press at my veins as it scratches under my skin to be let out. Of the unfathomable potential lyrics and I can't find a substantial sentence that makes your heart swell as every "I love you" you say.
My thoughts scare me. They hurt me. How am I meant to go on when I can't go an hour without some manifestation of pure pain develops in my brain. It's not a stab to the heart so much as the feeling of my heart physically letting go of my body and falling onto a barrage of razors. Nicking and shedding my heart until it is nothing but the twitching remains of some left over hope. 
I listen to the same song over and over and over and over again with tears in my eyes at 2 in the morning. The way another can express my emotions better than I can says something about my communication skills, it kills. It kills me. It kills me.
And each night I repeat and repeat the same shaking and internal screaming because I can't fix the past nor can I predict the future. Worst of all I can't even explain the present.
I worry like the flickering flame of the smallest match spreading to each sturdy tree. Each patient branch burns in a matter of minutes and I collapse destroying the memories like patches of flowers. My fear absorbs my already rickety backbone and all I want is to curl up in the wounded arms of my treacherous love.
Before I was born there was a miscarriage. Some days I wonder - I wish - that perhaps that ought to be me.
I will never be good enough. I am so sorry I don't have all the answers, that I can't free you from all the hurt in the world. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. 
I just want to explode.



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