I want to speak. To tell him I didn’t want to live in a world without him. That I still don’t. I want to tell him that I don’t just love him. That a single four-letter word could never define the way I feel, nor could it explain the way my soul bled with his absence, driving me to do things that will always stick to my skin like a layer of filth. I want to tell him I was blind. Hurting. That my self-hatred bled off the page and tainted him because I was sick. Traumatized.
