You vanished.

Here I am - sitting alone again on my dirty floral couch, trying to conjure up something that makes even a sand grain of sense. Here I am again thinking about how nothing will ever be as tangible as when I got off the subway that night and whispered "that hurt."

Sucking in and breathing out we passed a Marlboro back and forth; between out separate fingers, between our separate lips. Embracing in all the most intimate of ways, yet not really embarcing in any way at all. And I suppose I don't really know you very well - but I know that it was 3:32am when you laid your tired head on me and I realized that you made me feel completely unhinged. And I know that my words were anomalously spilling out of me; bouncing off the walls and landing scattered on the floor - I was a mess, but you didn't care. And you are the perfect combination of California and New York and you like Joy Division and I like the sound of my voice when I'm with you.
And you vanished.

I am a land mine of emotion. Thinking about it now, I feel so much it's killing me.
It's all because of you.
You are so goddamn iridescent. I could look at you for barely a moment before having to turn my head the other way. The moonlight bled all over you when I told you you were an over-thinker and you told me it was my fault. And that was when the light inside of me was like a great forrest fire; a flame running through the hollow of my spine, up to my fingertips, peering out of my eyes and burning through my clenched teeth.
And I had to physically restrain from grabbing your hand.
And my ribs are bruised and breathing becomes a task.
And I swear to God, you could've saved me.
And you vanished.