It's becoming more and more unbearable. I obsessively think about you more now than I did when I was with you. Who knew that was possible. The ache is growing bigger and bigger each day. I wonder how you are, how you really are. Happy? Happier without me? Do you cry for me the way I cry for you?

The lump in my throat only seems to be getting bigger.

At night when I crawl into bed I snuggle up against a big hard pillow, telling myself that it's your back I'm rubbing. A pathetic substitute for reality. Of course at the moment I hate reality.

Panicked fear.