It’s familiar now, this feeling: a heart squeezed by invisible hands, phantom fingernails tearing at flesh that pounds with desperation. Misery squashing lungs like a squeezebox, expelling breath in stuttering gasps. Tears, blurring vision, running in rivulets over stained cheeks and quivering lips.

Silently screaming, I stretch the cords that bind us until, ripped apart, the tattered ends whip back.

Walk away. Keep walking…

Why do I do this to myself? What’s wrong with me?

Pushing onwards, your image begins to fade and your face loses focus, smudged by my tears. Deliberately, thoroughly, I erase the tiny details I used to adore: that mischievous glint in startling, green eyes, the curve of smiling lips, the warmth of contact. Remembrances crumble, flaking to dust as the widening distance consumes your memory.

And all that remains is the hurt I’ve caused.

Walk away. Walk faster…

How can I describe the longing to go back? What I’d give to retrace my steps and throw myself into your arms? Everything would be alright… we’d work out… you’d forgive me, wouldn’t you?

Wouldn’t you?

Pick up the pace, run. Leave it all behind…

It’s familiar now, this feeling. I’ve felt it before… ruined everything before… taken flight before. Discarded my life and started again.

I hope you understand. I can’t turn back. I never do.