Things that you should know that I will never get to say

It has been 27 hours and 22 minutes since our last embrace and your breath is still fresh on that borrowed pillow in my bedroom. The scene of the crime screams with normalcy, I couldn't be bothered to make the bed, let alone sleep in it.

The tedium of the day invited the following...

Killing you has been killing me,the memory of your broken heart haunts my daydreams and every minute that it takes me further from the scent of battle leads me down a dark path where you no longer follow.

It's only about five minutes in a day that my loss is not evidenced in muffled tears. And yet I know it in the deepest parts of my sincerest self that it's probably better for you now. I would never, were I your friend have allowed you to tolerate what I did and even as I suffer it only really hurts because it gets better every second. The memories become less and less of what they used to be and what we used to be, now that I look on it with damp eyes...only I would fight for that. I got the better end of deal and of course as it is with most things in life I see it so clearly now that I cannot have it back.

Losing you has been killing me inside...the hours pass like days as the curtain draws on this part of my life and that inexplicable feeling of feeling too much and nothing simultaneously, consumes me.

I have it all mapped up around my chest and every contour is a beat, no longer with yours in unison.The years weigh on me like centuries, even though they are yet to pass.

This leaden heart pulls me down every time I look up, because even if it were possible to garner your forgiveness, would I be up to the task. Never was there a punishment that fit the crime so well as bondage in ones own soul over the loss of another. So even in this I reign selfish and deserve to be alone. No more to be held like a dear thing or to frolic and laugh, mine is the emptiness that comes with knowing that tomorrow will be just as bleak and twice as empty as yesterday was.

This cursed heart will bleed over losing yours until every drop is spent, the ultimate price of having come to know heaven and rejected it for a hell of my own making.

I wonder how your day has been as I die here in my office, writing rhapsodies of suffering.