“My girl” “yours huh?”

The feeling of bile in the back of your throat, pounding migraine from overthinking. You replay the way she says “my girl”, over and over, the way she smiled when you said “yours huh?”. It feels miles alway now, just like she is. She apologized for leaving,  for taking the pills, but she couldn’t take it anymore. You refuse to admit it but you’ll never say goodbye. You still read her letter every night, while everyone is safely tucked away in bed. She’s still so very much alive within that inked paper. Some nights you wondered what she felt as she slipped out of consciousness,  you wonder if she regretted leaving, or if she felt relieved.  Did she think of you during her last breaths? “My girl…..my girl…..my girl…….my girl…… my girl….my…..girl.” her perfume is everywhere in this bed of yours. Yours huh……

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