Counting Wishes Like Sheep

01/26/20

“I wish I wrote the way I thought; obsessively, incessantly, with maddening hunger. I’d write to the point of suffocation. I’d write myself into nervous breakdowns, manuscripts spiraling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing. And I’d write about you a lot more than I should.”

Benedict Smith

My thoughts turn to him more often than I wish they did. Nothing helps. His face is always in my mind, his name on my tongue, his voice in my ears. I see his face behind my closed eyelids. I hear his laugh through covered ears. He haunts my dreams, as well as my every waking moment. I wish he wouldn’t. I wish he wasn’t the only thing I know how to think about. I wish i was strong enough to not need him. I wish it wasn’t so hard to breathe without him. I wish his voice wasn’t just a ghost in my head. I wish his laugh never stopped. I wish I could remember any other name but his. I wish he wasn’t dead.