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?