He probably had no idea, but I wished he could hold me that night.
At the seeming brink of all things horrible.
He wasn't the problem. I was the problem. I wanted it too badly.
But I couldn't admit that. I just had to lie there, hating the situation.
Trying not to hate life, even though I did.
And yet I still thought that his arms around me would cure everything.
That some how that small act could change everything.
And it probably could have.
Because all I needed was the empty feeling that his removal of love had impressed upon me to be gone.
To be filled again.
The feeling that he has a chunk of my heart, along with the chunk of his I once had.
That he took back.
And it's not like I'll die. Or that I didn't survive without that part before I met him.
But just that I wanted it so badly that it doesn't make sense for it to be gone.
Because I expected a future.
Forever or a few more months or the weekend.
At least one more time. There was this expectation in the future.
One more day I get to see him. One more day to have things the same.
Now I am just…here.
In this moment.
And I realize that the thing I miss the most is hope.
And that maybe we cling to that most in life.
Hope that tomorrow will be better than today.
Hope that the good will stay.
So I carry on. Doing my best. Trying desperately to cling to anything that will bring me that belief again.
Any hope for hope.