I’m lay here hoping, flicking back and forth through my phone, waiting for your message that isn’t coming. I know you can’t talk right now and yet I still see the flicker of redness alerting me of your message. I may be going crazy because when I hold my eyes shut and breathe the anxious butterflies out of my stomach, they flutter slowly and clear the blur in my vision. The message I thought I saw - Nothing there. 

As I lie here now, I picture you with her. I see your lips warm into a soft pink as you gently rest your head against her shoulder. Why isn’t it me? The cold breeze from the draft below the broken door brushes along my lonely shoulder. It consumes me. I wish you were here.

I’m closing my eyes now and seeing a blackboard. My fingers lace around the cold crispy chalk as I bring my hand up to the surface. ‘He loves her, you’re too late’ I scrawl, my handwriting looking ameteur and wobbly. I take a deep breath in and open my eyes. I can feel the weight on my heart shifting a little … a little but not too much. One step at a time.