we haven't spoken face-to-face in 135 days. or at least we hadn't, until today. and it was all it took for me to break down all over again. all it took to toss me into a wall.

"how are you," you asked. and i wanted to cry. i wanted to fracture and break and come apart, and go back to having nothing. i wanted to punch myself in the face or scream and shred my throat or be anywhere else but beside you. permanently severed, walking down a hallway, going absolutely nowhere. i couldn't breathe. all the way home i couldn't breathe and i didn't want to let myself. i didn't want to let myself be okay with the fact that this is how it's going to be until we die. this is all i'm ever going to get anymore. 20 brief seconds of love and regret and defeat, forcefully stabbed into this thinning timeline we crawl across. i sobbed on my floor and asked myself if it was worth it, the pain of knowing you still. the convulsing, the wretched hand digging its fingers into my brain. is this choking worth it? is this unwavering incompleteness still fucking worth it? i didn't have an answer. i still don't. i don't think i ever want to.