Mistake, my.

Tonight, I can't write. I can't breath either, but in the last 48 hours this has become commonplace. But I can't write, can't even string letters together to form words. They come out as incomprehensible mixes of vowels and hissing sounds in the folds on a faded red hoodie. The practical side of my brain is trying to take over.
"Be careful, you're going to need to wash that before it goes through the mail. This is better for him, will make him happy, this way he will be with a woman who deserves him." Then I start and lash out with an arm and clutch the crimson fabric even closer.
"But love!" I cry, slurring the words together,
"But she will never, can never love him the way I do!"

Five minutes and I am berating myself.
"You didn't fight, damn you! You should have begged, conjouled, MADE him understand how much you love him! Stupid, stupid girl! Maybe he doesn't know...maybe he's not sure....you can make him understand, you have to!"
This doesn't last long, even in my state I can see no logic behind it. There would be no happiness there, and forever I would wonder if he really truly wanted to be with me or if I had simply convinced him.

And so the choice must be his and his alone. And I lie here, holding my breath, hoping against hope against wish that in the end he still wants me. And if not, who knows. I don't bounce back like others, and this is something that will always be a part of who I am. He will always be a part of who I am. And for what it's worth, I'm a better person for it.
Tonight I don't have to worry about nightmares, I'm already living mine. Sleep is not going to come for me, not tonight. Tonight I shiver and moan and shake.
Now I'm waiting.