Sickness

My breaths are sullen, shaky and shallow. Maybe if I don’t move you won’t really be leaving me here. Maybe if I don’t move, nothing will change.
Things aren’t the same now. The exiliration has come to a screeching halt. The anxiety and anticipation of you, its gone, too. I am not allowed to have it anymore. It’s all been replaced with the heavy reality that there is a sickness here. We have to stop now.

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