I’ll be fine. I hope.

Loving you is both a blessing and a curse.
I feel like I’ve nothing left but that deep secretive and hopelessly pathetic part of me that is holding onto the negatively miniscule hope that you’ll come back.
You’re the reason I burst out crying in the shower yet the only comfort I could possibly get is from hearing your voice.
The reason for my middle of the night panic attacks is your voice at the back of my mind telling me the words that shattered my very being into millions of pieces and still all I want is to be held by you, in the warmth of your embrace where I feel most at home.
Loving you will be the end of me.
But at least I’ll die knowing I’ve loved another with all I had.


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