The Entry

I miss you today. Like always.

Three months bled into three years just like you bled out on the pavement from your cataclysmic fall from grace. You hurtled yourself out of heaven and what, expected it not to hurt? Stupid, fucking...bitch. Selfless, huh? That's how I made sure the world remembered you but you left me. How selfless is that? You left me to fight the shadows. To pay the debt. You left me at my worst because this was never heaven but hell and you chose the coward's way out.

No. No, that's not right at all.

I'm sorry, Willow. Christ, I'm sorry.

These days... I just don't know what's gotten into me. I'm bad without you. Rotten to the core. The bitterness has found a home in the cavity of my chest, I guess. It's a poison. But it's the poison you pushed into my blood. It is my last piece of you now. The last dwindling piece of something beautiful.

I get morbid when I hurt and I always hurt. So I'm always morbid, Willow. Always morbid. Should I apologize for that? You used to.

You're not around to apologize now.

That's something you should apologize for though. Isn't it?

Maybe not. Maybe your fall from grace was a fall upwards. A trip back home. Maybe I was never your home. Maybe I wasn't even close. Maybe I was... A punishment.

I only miss when I'm breathing, isn't that how it goes? I hate the sentiment. Worse, I hate that it's true. But there's a problem. If I only miss you when I'm breathing, inhaling and exhaling, what happens in that space in between?

Do I miss you when my lungs are full but unmoving? Do I miss you when I'm out of breath? Do I miss you when my chest doesn't move?

I must not.

There's a sliver of death inside of me, caught right between exhale and inhale, inhale and exhale. You exist there. Inside of that death, you live. You breathe when I do not.

And I wonder if that isn't the key to finding you.