Sometimes the constant dull ache of losing someone you love is worse than the full force break down.

I question whether I loved you as much as the others, since I haven't broken down in the middle of a public space, even though my body has threatened to fragment every other day. I keep waiting for the tornado after hearing the tv's siren warnings, for the tsunami after the destabilizing earthquake, for the fire after seeing the smoking ash. I'm always on edge for the unstable desolation that could knock down historical monuments, or crumble entire cities to their foundation. I expect the devastation to be there, one similar to my reaction to losing your predecessors. But it never comes. I always reach the borderline of tears overflowing eyes but I never quite get the last drop to break the tension.

Your absences is a constant ache that cannot be shown off by a makeup smeared pillow, a lack of effort, an inability to leave bed. I'm functioning still, but I can't focus, and nothing tastes as good, and I'm so exhausted treading the ocean of you waiting for a rescue.

The ache lasts so long, so continuously. The gnawing in my chest is similar to the sound of a flatlined heart monitor rate that will never be turned off after the pronunciation of an end. "Time of death", please give me closure. I cannot call my mom and tell her my body has been drained, my mind has been foggy, and my eyes have been watery for the past two days without her assuming it's allergies. But it's you. Oh, it's you. And no prescription can fix that.