shawn mendes imagines

a mess

Shawn's POV

1. Sleep hasn't been with me. The memories and pieces of her are glued to my skin, to my brain, to every fucking part of my body. I'm tossing around, and with every turn, I see a picture of her. Every god damn time. Why can't I sleep?

2. Mom said to let her go. Every person has an instant reaction to what hurts them, yet here I am. She's gone, yet her remembering touch is stinging my cold skin and her voice is making me go insane. Why can't I let her go?

3. I feel torn. Every vein, every organ, every part of my body is sharp with edges and it's cutting me from the inside, out. Why do I feel so torn?

4. I stood in the middle of the other night, waiting for a fucking car to hit the pain away. But, my mother screamed and grabbed my shirt and pulled me away from the freezing concrete and brought me inside. I wanted to be with her again. Why do I want so bad to die?

5. I thought shots of vodka will erase the memory, but it made it stronger. It made me wish that I was the one dead. The memories became a part of me, engulfing my body into a prison hold of the thoughts about her. The vodka spilled and glass shattered against the floor. Why can't I fucking stop?

6. I swear that I heard her voice and felt her touch last night. The wind rushed in and I almost felt her arms around me. I need this to stop. Why is this not easy?

7. I'm gasping for air. I'm gasping for fucking air.

8. Six months and three days, sitting on the curb of Main Street at two hours past midnight with a bottle of scotch in my right hand. I'm still a mess.