Fiction: ‘Better Days’

Better Days
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The middle of the day feels like the dead of the night, and I’m never so alone as when I’m with you.

I don’t remember the exact moment of fracture, but we drifted apart like continental plates; imperceptible up close but forever changing the shape of things.

Why can’t we say goodbye?

Why can’t we admit that it ended, and so long ago too. You know I’m a restless soul, and I can’t stand the monotony of pretending to feel, when really I don’t.

I want to feel again.

I crave the fresh hope of a new day.

And the raw passion of that first night. I miss the taste and smell and touch. I miss when I was young and beautiful.

I look at the mirror and it breaks my heart.

It really does. I feel like I’m drowning inside my own body. I can barely breathe. When did I start to hate myself so much? At what moment did I lose all self-respect? No. Not self-respect. Just hope. Plain and simple and sweet as a daisy.

I want to laugh, but I accidentally cry instead.

Funny how interchangeable the two are.

Fucking hilarious.

~ Ekaterina

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