drabbles

on breakdowns

His breath came in quick and short bursts, sucking in air desperately like there was something thick and heavy clogging his airways. Vaguely, he clutched at his front, clenching his fingers around his shirt and tugging at it as if trying to tear open his own chest. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, darting everywhere yet not processing anything he saw, searching for a specific something amongst the blurry faces and surroundings. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see her, his shining moon, his unwavering support, his steady anchor—couldn't see his love, even as he scanned the crowd of strangers over and over.

His mind kept replaying pointless, short scenes, first her eyes squeezed shut as she threw her head back and laughed until tears gathered at the corners, her eyelashes casting lines that stretched over her shut eyelids and he wanted to kiss her temples, wanted to nestle his head into her shoulder and shut his eyes—then suddenly she was crying, eyes blazing as she shouted at him, harsh words designed to deliver the maximum amount of hurt over something stupid, some ridiculous argument that escalated until she stormed out of their apartment, the slam of the door echoing in his ears while he sank into a crouch, defeated—her, her, always her, devouring cookies that they'd spent the afternoon baking, half-accidentally shoving him into a pond, plucking wildflowers to put in his hair, buying him that little dog figurine on which his gaze always lingered a little too long because it reminded him of his old dog, brushing soft kisses on his brow, on the bridge of his nose, on the corner of his lips and the centre of his forehead—

How could he have been so stupid?