And you dreamed about her again

That heavy, possessive voice that brings you back to self-awareness. This time, you went too far for her to see any real presence in you in that fog. And this time she only cared about knowing how you were - Alive or dead? - So she could leave. She wants to stay, but she couldn't bear to know what was going to happen, no matter what you say, the way things are going, you're only confirming that your death is getting closer and closer. And everyone dies... The thing is, yours no longer seems like it will be due to "natural causes". You ask yourself what this addiction is, because you know it doesn't make sense. She was always worth more than that. Why? Why did you buy again and, once again, break the promise you made? Why did you betray her, you... Us? But getting back to the facts, that's what happened and there's no going back. Your word is worthless and seems more treacherous than ever given the man you've always been, defending such ethical and moral values. Another fact is that... You are not suicidal, or at least you do not commit the well-known "direct suicide". Self-destructive, that's what they call what you are. And coming back even further to reality, at the front door, you open and close. The sound of your key. What an overwhelming silence, but you know it's better than the air filled with her despair. You walk to the fridge. Get something that doesn't require much effort... Not that you're lazy, it just never made sense to do something just for yourself... Besides, it seems more like there's a hole in your stomach that won't be filled by eating. On the contrary, the food seems to not go in and it dirties the hole that you have no idea how or if it will be patched. You take one or two bites. It's too much. You put away the lasagna, which, because it has too much sodium, like any canned food from the supermarket, makes you suddenly thirsty. Fridge. Bottle... Of water. It's a bottle of water, but just reminding you of what could have been in there instead of water... You feel disgusted. Quick steps to the bedroom. Clonazepam. Swallowing it all at once, dry. Old and bitter. Alone in bed. The longing is enormous, the despair is glaring. She is the first, only and you know the last woman in your life. Girl. Tomboy. Child that you failed to take care of and your head makes you mull it over. You dream about her and she is wearing your clothes, as usual.