Days go by and I keep telling myself and you that I understand where you’re coming from. I know what you’re going through. I lie. Or at least only say the half truth. Every day I yearn for more. I dream about it being different. About us being something more. Almost like an addict claiming to be able to control it, being in denial about the drug controlling him.

Days seem good, I’m a happy camper. Life is rosy, a walk in a park. And then it comes. Just like clock work. Every three weeks. The wave of sadness. It’s like fall has come. The sound of the birds chirping that until yesterday made me want to sway now become a faint sound in the distance I almost don’t notice. The beautiful colours of the flowers once so vibrant and full of life suddenly seem to have paled. The life bursting through me, making me want to skip around town seems to have drained. The days turn into nights and the nights into days while I just sit here, with a fog in my head. It’s got me in its claws. I try and break free. I feel my energy waning so I fight harder. But at last I lose every single time and submit myself to it. And I wait.

I try looking for you from in between that fog. A temporary relief, some respite from the heaviness. A cool gust of wind in the middle of the dessert. A sip of water for a parched throat. And I still lie to myself that I don’t need you. I lie that I could let you go ever so easily if I decide to. When in reality I may be hanging on to you for dear life.

Is you that I’m holding on to? Or a feeling from the past that I’m hoping you can recreate for me? And maybe it’s him I’m trying to hold on to and you’re just filling in.

I’m not sure what the reality is. I’m not sure what my reality is. Do I love you? or do I love him and you’re filling in? Suddenly the whirlwind of thoughts is interrupted. And I find myself asking, “Does the answer really matter? You can’t have either.” ‘Move on’, I tell myself. Let it go. It’s another wound on your heart that might leave a scar, but will heal nevertheless. Is that another lie?, I ask myself.

The fog passes. Everything is great again. But it’s taken yet another piece of me with it. Chipping away at my soul bit by bit, every time it comes. Just like clock work.