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.