I remember sitting in a bath full of water thinking about you, us, and the fact that it had been four weeks since we last said goodbye.
Or rather what I thought was the last time we were together.
Shortly after, I learned what it meant to say goodbye for the last time: that cold sweat on my back, a knot in my stomach and the blank stare on the bathroom ceiling.
I was living my own counter-utopian nightmare. Nothing made any more sense.
I was a stranger to myself. The war that I had declared had burned me from head to toe.
All I had left were big brick walls. Empty and impossible to invade.
Unfortunately, it was not a nightmare just because of the pain of separation – no.
I could only pray for a sweet pain like that.