You're the monkey on my back. I hate all the days that I celebrated the way I "felt" you when you walked into a room. You're like an addiction; your touch was a mistake. You're poison to the system; you're the injection I am married to. I'll never write about how I can be upstairs on the third floor and know immediately whether you're in the building or not. There have been times where you're around the corner and before I see you, I feel you. What IS that? That can't be of God. That has to be some passion of this disgusting flesh. And more than that, I feel the absence of you. It's like a gaping wound that's being fed off of. I didn't even know you were leaving this weekend, but I knew the exact moment you left. I was on my way to work and I suddenly felt a loss of breath; I was overcome with an intense anxiety and a paralyzing loneliness. It reminds me of the day you decided to go camping without me to "find yourself" and you left me here, all alone saying "I don't know...deal with it. Find some friends," and I couldn't function. I couldn't function.
 Losing you was like cutting off a body part.

 What causes that? 

  I'm terrified of May, just because I don't know if I can physically handle my body without you near it. It hurts. My back hurts, my chest hurts, my arms hurt, my head hurts, my energy is shot.
But It doesn't hurt--

That you never felt that way;

It's probably better.

It's better that you can cut huge chunks out of me like I'm expendable because then it means we didn't lose something that will be impossible to ever have again. If it's only me, if it's only in my head--this thing--this cosmic chemistry--there's hope...

 That someone else will feel the same way and not leave.