toxic

now

i woke up screaming your name last night.

tears were streaming down my face and my body burned as if you were still touching it; god, i thought waking up would be better than being lost in my nightmares but even awake, i felt as if i was spinning into the hurricane that you were.

that was the most mesmerizing thing about you -- the way you made me realize why storms were named after people. because you were a storm yourself; you were cold to the point that my body shivered in your presence; your words always shook me the way thunder booms against the cracked sky; and your touch was lightning that electrified my every nerve. you were a beautiful but deadly anomaly and maybe that is why i always found myself drawn to you.

i always loved rain before i met you, but the tears that streamed down my face last night made me hate water altogether. because rain reminded me of the storm that you were, and dreaming of you reminded me of your absence on this lonely bed. i screamed your name for hours, hoping that maybe you'd hear my cries from wherever you were, but how could i expect you to hear me now when you never even listened back when you were in this bed with me?

i wonder how it's possible that even with you gone, the weather seems so incredibly turbulent.