Cheyburr

Her breathing had become a necessity. A habit for me to see and hear. Daily, I had pressed myself up against her and felt the slow movement of her chest rise and fall. Sometimes I imagine I can still do that. Sometimes I remind myself of how our first kiss felt. The grass prickling my back as her body rested on top of mine, the smooth lines of her eyes traced over me, and the electric spark that surged through my body when she pressed her lips against mine. I was alive, then. But when I'm drawn back to reality, her absence tears at me. It claws and bites, and burns my chest with an intensity I've never felt. And honestly, it's agonizing.