Dear Levi,
The tears are
nonstop. They literally pour from the minute I wake up tangled and gasping in
my sheet, pillow soaked, room a grey blur of prison, throughout the drive
through the mindless traffic to work, inbetween calls when I’m fighting to
remember how to feel the breaths my body is making for me, through the drive
back home in all the red lights, silence of dead space, no music, no thoughts,
nothing… till I lie down in bed and let them flow over my cheeks and begin to
moisten the pillow yet again. There are no words, just tears. My heart is a
heavy dead weight that I carry within me, like a strange heavy stone among my quivering
organs.
Why, Levi?
Why?
Rigel
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