I lay here broken on my bed. I drown in a handful of narcos at first light just to numb the ache, just to survive the day. I am ill. But my affliction is not the bruised and shattered reflection I once held of hope, it’s that after all the hurt, you are still the first thought on my mind. Even as I wince in agony, a flutter with your name still ripples in my chest. And for this, there is no cure, no pill to swallow that could make sense of such malady.
-Andi C E Smith