Sometimes you lose people, you know? Sometimes you lose someone you love, and they can't come back. They die on you, take a little piece of your heart with them, and they don't come back. Sometimes you lose someone you love and it breaks your heart, it claws at your lungs and it breaks through your chest and leaks through your pores, and you're practically fucking emanating sadness, but there's nothing you can do about it. You're stuck writing about it in stupidly long sentences because you don't know what else to do with this itch beneath your skin, and you need to fucking do something with it because it's going to eat you alive. The ache that pulses through your veins is going to drive you insane, it's going to absolutely murder you. You lost someone you loved. They're gone. They've left you. You can't get back the picnics and the laughter and the fights. You can't call them on the phone, and you can't fucking touch them, okay? You can't hug them, or play with their hair, or hold their hand. You'd give anything to feel the warmth from their hug once more. But you're left cold. They're cold. They're so cold, and gone, and you can't wrap your head around it. You can't think about it, because panic squeezes your heart in a rigid grip, and suddenly you can't breathe anymore. You can't breathe because you realized you won't be able to hear their voice anymore. You realized you don't really remember what they sounded like. Their image is blurry in your mind, and you can't make out all of the flecks of color in their eyes. You feel sick, you're so sick, how could you forget, how could you fucking forget. How could you forget them? You lost them. You lost them. They're gone, they're gone forever. And you think it's the worst thing that could ever happen to you.
And then, and then you start to love someone who you might lose. It's deja vu, except you can see it happening before it does, again. You have them in your grasp, you can feel their skin and their hair and listen to them hum along to the radio. Can hear them swear at the slow car in front of them. You have them, they're right fucking there, but they're slipping. They're leaving you, too. And you start to wonder if it's you, maybe. If maybe you're the problem. If everything you touches dies. Because they're dying, too. You can't eat without thinking about it. Can't sleep. You're going to wake up in a few weeks and they're going to be gone, too. They're leaving you before you even got the chance to have them, and god, it's killing you. Bile rises in your throat and it's too much, it's all too much. There can't be a god. There can't be. You're losing everything you need, everything you've ever needed, and there's no way that someone could be responsible for that. No one would want to do that. Who would want to break a heart so badly? Your fingers are numb and your arms are bleeding from all of the scratching, the constant scratching to release the itch, because it's not fucking leaving. And you don't know why. You want it all to stop, please, you can't deal with this again. You thought you could save it, this time. You thought you'd be able to make it okay. But you didn't. You can't, you couldn't. You break everything you love.
You've lost someone you loved and you're loving someone you're inevitably going to lose. It's a sick, sick game and you wonder if any of it's worth it. If anything even fucking matters anymore.
And it doesn't.