A catch in my throat.
Choke.
Torn into pieces.
I won't.
No.
I don't want to be this.
I won't let this build up inside of me.

Why is it that I can only cry for you in my dreams?
I whimper. I sigh. I feel this knot in my throat. But it's only in my dreams where I cry, and when I wake up I still have these dry eyes of mine.

It's strange how I can recall every single detail, more details each day that passes by. Every one of them. The acanthus in the hall, the golden light in my room, the feeling of the sofa. The taste of your food. The things I've been unable to eat since you're gone. Your laughter, your call every night. The smell of your cigarettes.

Your presence.

Sometimes it's hard. It's just sometimes. But when it is, it's so hard. So hard...

How can I save you from the things that I've been?
I cannot deny the past is written in my face.