Earthquake

What I'd do just to get back in your arms

I'd do anything to get Emerson back. I'd do anything to hold her again.

I stood in the bathroom, looking at the pills the therapist had given me.

If I took them, what would happen? Would I forget about her? I don't want to forget about her. I want to remember her forever. Or do I?

I pick up one of the pills and examined it.

If I forgot about her, would it be easier? Would I be able to live again? Would I be able to smile and laugh? Would I be able to breathe? Has she forgotten about me?

I put the pill in my mouth and washed it down my throat with a glass of tap water.

I stood there and waited. Waited for something to happen. Waited for my memories of Emerson to evaporate.

It wasn't working.

I reached for the bottle and poured the pills out into my hand. I swallowed as many as I could.

Why wasn't it working? Why wasn't she leaving me alone?

I started to cry. I tried to stop the tears, but I couldn't. These were tears of rage, not sadness.

I hate Emerson. How could she do this? How could she hurt me like this? How could she torture me?

My head throbbed. I sank to the bathroom floor. I felt dizzy. I was weak; I couldn't move.

I hate her for leaving. For tearing my heart to pieces. For leaving me empty.

My eyes fluttered closed as darkness surrounded me. I could feel it consuming me as I drifted away. I could feel myself fading.

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