​It’s just another 4 A.M

It’s just another 4 A.M. The coffee is stale. My mind conjures up his face, his hypnotic voice haunts my ears. I snuffle my face in his shirt. That one shirt he left behind. The scent consumes me. Every last fiber of my being throbs for just one kiss, one embrace.

Is that too much to ask for? Someone’s at my door. I strain my eyes to see my beacon of hope. She has her arms crossed, mouth curved in petulance, a hint of anger and impatience flashes across her face, then disappears. She holds a mirror to me. My stomach lurches at the sight of smudged kohl. It’s been 3 months. 3 months of perpetual darkness. Move on! Her eyes scream, but I sit still, paralyzed.

Who was he, anyway? You’ll get better…

I shush her.

Better? A hard laugh escapes my lips. My parched throat felt even drier. But, I manage to croak down a response.

Better? He was the storm and the sunshine, summer and winter, fire and water. A living paradox. Light years apart from anything as trifling as earthly, he was the analgesic to my wretched soul. He was an enigma, the inspiration people hunt down.

And sometimes, it’s okay to not move on, to be consumed by the past, to weep for a person. Sometimes, just sometimes it’s okay to get run down and be broken. No one-liner, no epiphany, no amount of motivation can touch you then. It’s just you and your thoughts. The same thoughts you won’t fight.

Sometimes, it’s okay to be blind.

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