Late Night or Early Morning

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The thing about grief: it doesn't end with its five phases or whatever.  It stays.  It eats you every day.  You feel it in your chest.  Your arms tremble.  Yet, you can't cry.  You are never allowed to cry.  Not anymore.  Not after an evil, ungrateful man saw your tears and exploited them. A thought in the late night or the very early morning.  You feel the pain is fresh.  You wonder why you were stabbed and left to die alone.  Your hands seek a grasp.  Nobody is around. We are always alone.  And it's fine.  We are always better off alone. Forgive yourself.  Forgive me.
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lluvia #22

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'are you crying again?'
'yes.'
'i thought it's over.'
'it was.'
'then it start all over again?'
'indeed.'

'why not me? what im lacking of?'
'nothing. lets say im just not into you. and it's not your fault. noone fault.'
'what am i to you?'
'dont.'
'dont what?'
'dont repeat that pattern again. lets just be you and be me.'
'im never change.'

'why me?'
'i dont choose you. it is what it is. and it's you.'
'you dont love me. you love your idea about me. and that's not me.'

i was sleeping with open eyes. he's gone, for million times. i am alone.

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