I’m wrapping my hands around my throat. Dare myself to suffer. Eat the ashes. Sweat the fever. Figure it out. It’s all loneliness. It’s all loneliness. It’s all fucking loneliness. Milo wakes me up from my bad dream. Reminds me that I’m his entire universe in one breath. Stares through me with concerned eyes, but makes me feel safe from the fear. Feel at peace with him. Feel the cold sweat meet the back of my neck as an ocean cries for me to rest. I never will. I never will. I never will. My grief flutters around every word I chew on and even though you think I’m choking, I promise I’m not. I just don’t know how to feel less desolate after all this time. I mean, the vastness of all I know ruptured in an instance. They tell me I’m so young. So young. So young. So young. So fucking young. The ashes that meet the corner of my eyes disagree. They tell me I’ve tasted every sour bite of whatever the world gave me- now I cough up smoke because the air isn’t as sweet. I’m just navigating what numbness made of me. I think I’m finding loneliness in my friends and my words and my reactions and the people. It’s all about people. The people who say they’re so fucking sorry for you then turn their face to the sun for another morning. My mourning isn’t as graceful of a morning. It is not a moment of silence or a retreat or a stride towards the day ahead. It’s a temptation for my dreams to take me before I rise- except I always rise first. I wish to rise like how I used to. Fall into the arms of myself and remember how to feel whole again. Leave everyone and everything and every dream behind me for some time. It’s just a drawn out season, I guess. And when everyone forgets what happened I’ll have to turn to forgiveness for giving too much of myself. Maybe it’s all just a fucking dream. AMT