Sta.sh
Sleeping becomes harder and harder. I miss having her here, sleeping next to me. But it still feels like she's here. All the time. As I lay down, I feel her weight resting at the sheets. I hear her breathing. I feel her presence in the room. But when I turn around…She's still gone. And that fact alone is enough to shake me to the core. I feel scared and alone. I can't sleep, until I push that fact to the back of my mind. I'm waiting for her to wake up still…And, I feel like, I'll be waiting for a long time.
So, until then, I know that I'll just have to play pretend.
Then comes the guilt.
Because, as I sleep, all I see is her, living and dying, over and over again.
There's blood, cascading her elegant neck.
There's tears, riddled with self-loathe, that follow.
And there's her face, hung in fear – the realization of what she's done.
She burns in Hell; she burns in Hell, and it's all my fault.
That's why, every night since, I've watched her die and die, over, and over again.
Guilt; cold and cunning, cruel and relentless. It never dies out, and it never ever truly lets you forget.
Why won't she just let me be?
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"But only the future holds life. To live in the past is to embrace what is dead." -Terry Goodkind
But whatever had happened in the past don't dwell on it or blame yourself for it, what is done is done best to let go and move on, no matter how hard it is