How is it Monday?
How am I back in the routine?
How is it that the only person I ever want to be around is John?
I fell in love with him over and over this weekend. It’s strange, to have come this far.
Tell anyone our story, and they’d laugh. Mostly out of confusion.
“You’re pretending.” they’d yell.
“It’s a facade.” they’d scream.
But really, I promise…we’re not…we’re not
I love John.
He is everything I’ve ever wanted rolled into a beautiful flesh coffin.
I like looking at his mouth say things, then I stare at his hands, and remember all of the things he does with them.
Paint. Cook. Fix things. Touch me.
The way he smokes, though I wish we could quit.
The way he throws his head back when he laughs.
How committed he is to making me yelp from happiness.
The way he dances.
Mondays are the hardest after a weekend of being in such close proximities.
I miss him, which sounds ridiculous, but it’s true.
Now it’s Tuesday, and I’m in a ridiculous amount of pain.
What is happening to me?
Is this some kind of vodou?
Who hates me this much?
It feels like my insides are at war.
A World War.
All mucus and villi.
All small and large.
This pain though, no one believes.
A salient war inside the gut.
Secret rumbling and distant aches.
Soldiers strewn about, no weaponry.
All I want are baths and sleep.
My doubts creep in when I’m in pain. It doesn’t stop.
It yells and tells me I’m no good.
But I am good.
I deserve good.
I don’t deserve this pain though.
It’s weird to think back when I used food as a sedative, where now I can barely eat without being in agony.
I hate food.
It makes me sick.
I miss food.
I miss the me that didn’t feel pain.
This is hard.
Healing is at stake.
But I’m unsure what will lessen the stabbing.
What will kill these snakes.