You lie in bed with your pillow clutched in hand, the long one, the one that you can’t sleep without.
And you cry.
You cry because the feeling of missing him suffocates you, as if hands are crushing your lungs, gripping tighter.. And tighter..
And so you cry. Because with every sob, you gasp for air.
That’s how you breathe.
You reach for your phone but decide against it midway. Your friends don’t understand. And you can’t blame them.
They try and comfort you with words, attempt to heal wounds with a bandaid.
But it doesn’t work.
It’s funny what they don’t tell you about long distance relationships. Though you get used to seeing airports, it never quite offsets the uneasy feelings of entering a terminal, no matter where you’re going.
They don’t tell you about the stolen envious glances at fighting couples. Don’t they know the time they take for granted?
They don’t tell you about the places you avoid, sacred areas that hold special to you and him. Because setting foot in them would feel wrong, criminal almost, since doing so could taint the memory and you wouldn’t want that.
They mention the missed birthdays, anniversaries, Christmases and New Years. But, “It’s fine. There’s always next year anyway.”
They tell you to look forward, be excited for the future. And you are…
You just have to cope with the present.
So you take a deep breath, take in as much air as your lungs and blocked nose will allow, and pray that you fall asleep fast.
Tomorrow’s a new day, you think to yourself. It will get better.