Breathe

Breathe, breathe.

How many times a day do you tell yourself to breathe, impel your lungs
to capture the free air whilst your heart cries. Whilst your body
shakes uncontrollably. Hardly, I guess. Well, if I told you that it
became a chant to me - would you believe me?

It was a day like every other day since you left. The annoying ring to
tell me that I, yet again had to face the world with a phony smile and
a lump in my throat greeted me. I was used to it. My body would move to
stretch, a slow waking. It hurt for a while at least. For a minute I
would forget, it normally was at that moment that I'd realise I could
be late for work if I didn't get a move on. And that's another thing -
work. Pretence, all of it. People in their own little world, scurrying
around the office with stacks of files whilst I watched with awe.
That's how my days went by, that's how my weeks turned into months. My
bruises faded slowly. But the ache remained as if to remind me of this
fate that had captured me and held me hostage. I felt so weak most of
the time, not because my body ache for him, but because my tears were
drowning my heart - it was fighting a losing battle that only my mind
could rescue.

I would wake remembering dreams that I had that night. I would shower,
the water punishing me with its unsympathetic spray of emotion. Why?
Why?
So many questions circled - did he ever love me? Love me enough to
leave me? Or hate me so much that he couldn't bear to touch me?
Although I faintly recall the way he used to touch me. A brush of the
hand, as light as a feather. Sweet murmurs from a caress I remember and
the urgency of his passion. His kisses used to feed me daily until it
became my source of energy and survival. Now I await slow death. Until
my heart gives way - until I stop breathing.