Why does love always feel like holding your breath underwater, waiting for either salvation or the sea to claim you? I’ve carried him in dreams and daylight, our past and present blurring until our love has become its own haunting. I’m envious of him. He hasn’t woken up in a different life with the ghost of another still burning in his chest, or watched himself fail what he needed most. If fate rips him away again, if there’s a universe where I wake up alone—again—I won’t survive.
