Yesterday

I hated myself. I hated everything. So. Much.


It hurt to exist, an aching loneliness tore at my heart minute for minute. 


Smells have an interesting relationship with memory and emotion. I pulled a blanket out of a corner that had been there since Jason left Norman in early June. It smelled so much like him that I clung to it and cried hard. I sobbed and wanted to scream. 


Because, even when Jason comes back in August, even when he's here. He won't be /here/. It'll still be this new Jason, the one who is just now learning to deal with his emotions. This is someone else, and they tell me how much I mean to them. But, it still hurts. 


Because, when you get used to something -- a gentle touch, an arm around you, or an assuring kiss on the cheek -- when you begin to rely on it to help keep you grounded, then you sort of just break when it's gone. 


You sort of lose parts of yourself. They crumble to the ground as you walk, because they have no where to go, and what was holding you together isn't working anymore.


You hurt because it has to be this way, and you don't know for how long.