Eyes wet and heavy, emotions wrecked, I kiss your picture, and wish only to be held by you once more, to feel your arms around me, to feel your chest beneath my ear. You find the same connection with everyone you meet; I am not, and never was, special. I sleep in my flannel pajamas, wondering if you lay next to her wearing the matching set. I clutch your pillow and your blanket when I sleep here, jealous of your apathy. I think about putting the pictures in a drawer or a suitcase, somewhere out of sight, but can never bring myself to shut the door on the images they bring. Perhaps you never realized just how important you were to me... or perhaps you did and that is why you ran so fast. Perhaps a blind run is less scary than the promise of stability. How many will you shatter before you cut your feet on all of the shards?
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