1.

She thinks about how letting go can be so easy sometimes and so painful at other times but there doesn't seem to be a middle ground. There is either a shrug of the shoulders and indifference or there is clinging on with bloody fingertips and eyes half shut from crying in desperation; please do not leave me, I am nothing alone.

Sitting in the garden, despondent, she closes her eyes and imagines him walking up behind her and planting a kiss on her neck. She leans back on him smiling softly and he brushes his hand through her hair. She leans into his hand like a purring cat; he owns her and she owns him and there will never be anything this beautiful again and why would there need to be when this is everything she'll ever desire? All of life pales in comparison to this moment. Warmth radiates from that spot on her neck, drawing attention to how out of the question it is to go back now.

How can he exist, seemingly unscathed, without her?

Can it be that this was all in her head?

How can he just recreate it all over again with a replacement? She couldn't recreate him no matter how she might try. Everyone else makes her skin crawl.

She supposes her replacement maybe isn't littered with the silvery scars of past pain made visible on her skin. She supposes when things get messy this one doesn't dig a hole and bury herself in it so she doesn't have to admit that she's hurting but she doesn't know why. She supposes this one won't descend into an unrecognisable state and give herself over to the lurking darkness within, if indeed she even has any. She imagines this girl as soft and much more beautiful that she could ever hope to be. She imagines her tears fall delicately on to her cheeks and he wipes them away with the pads of his thumbs as he holds her face and leans forward to kiss her forehead. There, all better.

This thought, this very thought is excruciating. She can picture them fucking, or laughing together, or feeding their baby and it's painful, but the intimacy of that thought is like a knife to the gut.

How can he love someone else when she still loves him this much? How can he just be going through his life without knowing that this much feeling exists within her? She feels like it must be etched across her face but maybe he can't read her like she thought he could. Or maybe he has chosen not to. She is unsure which one of those thoughts is more terrifying.

She'll maybe just pop another couple of pills and try to forget for another night.