It was so late, and I hadn't slept for three days. I'd been listening to your mix-tape for the past week, and the bed was colder than it had been since winter of last year. Whenever the chords changed from C to D, the tears would fall. Nothing could fix me, and I was absolutely broken to the core. The light in my bedroom lamp had blown out earlier that night, and I didn't have the energy to replace it. Other than the glow of the screen on my cellphone, the room was dark. It gave my skin a bit of a blue glow, and it reminded me of how we used to watch TV in bed. I had stopped weeping at this point. It wasn't even sobbing or whimpering anymore. It was just one tear after another, falling like a steady rain. I was too hurt to move, and they soaked my pillow to the point of discomfort. My face was dry from the salt, and my mouth was bitter and dry. I was staring at the phone and thinking of you. At that point, I think it was impossible for me to hurt anymore. It was the kind of pain that breeds desperation and makes you rationalize irrational thoughts. I had forgotten what your eyes looked like, and the way your skin felt. I'd forgotten the sound of your voice and the smell of your hair. All I had were memories that were triggered by songs, and those were fading fast. I'm not sure if I was sad because I missed you, or because I was forgetting you. Probably both. When I reached for my phone, I felt like I had lost control. I went into some type of emotional survival mode as I flipped through my contacts and pulled up your name. As I started to text you, the tears stopped and for the first time in a long time, I felt hope. My message contained two words:
"Come over."
Right now, you are next to me, and I'm writing this as you sleep. Regardless of what happens when you wake up. Those two words changed my life tonight. Maybe forever.
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