Relapse

I won’t ever be able
to get over you
and I —
we haunt me.

I keep relapsing
into memories,
replaying the best
of what we were.

When things were good —
God, they were good.
We were whole,
we were home.

I miss us.
The real us.
The couple who laughed
without looking over their shoulders.
The lovers
who loved freely,
without fear,
without fracture.

I wish
I could hold you
just once more,
wrap my arms around your pain
and tell you
everything will be okay.

But this —
this isn’t okay.

This
is me cracking
in the silence you left.
Caving
under the weight of almost.