My body keeps betraying me.

It's like I AM one big memory of you. A hollow, tinny shell of me, a vessel for old, wispy pieces of us.

I miss being happy with you. God I was so happy. I was so happy. I can't honestly even imagine it again. I can hardly remember it accurately.

I never sleep. I lay down, a drink in, feel exhausted and still, my bed feels like a tomb. Like a place my subconscious goes to die, over and over and over.

My sister told me that counting, even backwards as I do, wasn't enough to try and keep you at bay when I am trying to rest. So, I try states and cities, capitols and fruit names. Times tables. You'd be surprised how many states start with A. Ok, not that many but I made the mistake of trying to alphabetize them.

No matter what, as soon as my guard is down: there you are. Why does my body hate me so? It gives me chills and sweats, makes me toss and turn and twitch. Literally, its like I am in shock, withdrawal. Only it won't stop.

I am not a part of your life. At all. Why can't you just not be a part of mine? She writes on your FB so much now, asserting her position. Warding me off. She's right to do it.

You two finally have what you and I never did. A relationship with just two people in it.

I shouldn't miss something like that.

But I do.

Good god, I miss you every day. Sometimes only fleeting. Sometimes I need you all day, like a nicotine addict aching for a cigarette.

I swear I would give up everything to just get to lay down with someone who loves me and be comforted. But that person doesn't exist and maybe he never did.

On the bright side, stirrup tights are the greatest thing that ever happened.