cold mornings

sleep deprivation and nicotine is not good they say.

i run my fingers along the row of books.

one.

two.

three.

i miss the feeling of rolling words on my tongue. blunt. crisp. its all too familiar.

its cold. so cold. but i refuse to give in. id rather just put on the green sweater. a weird mixture of detergent and fabric softener. your scent is no longer there.

sometimes i regret for washing it. but it was too painful to leave it lingering. i know how stubborn and bad i am when it comes to nostalgic things like this. i want to store all that reminds me of you in a dusty shoe box. i do. badly. but i know its harmful. it wont make a difference. you wont be coming back. youre there while im still here. as we know it. life.

i miss waking up to your quiet breathings. but you were never at peace. not even in your sleep. there was always a worried face. waking up by your side always reminds me of the dreamcatcher in my bedroom. what is in your head? the boogeyman? or those lonely christmas we promised would never come again?

but we both knew. we were never good with keeping promises. how much ive missed you.