It’s cold outside without you.  

My skin feels rough because you’re not holding me. 

The emptiness that I’m feeling is so suffocating; 

now hollow breaths fill my lungs.  

I miss your presence.  

My heart cracks because you’re no longer a part of me.  

What was once myself has become my past,  

a breakup with my own being.  

I find myself mourning our times together. 

Or am I mourning your mental health? 

Crying because of your suicidal thoughts?  

Screaming because of your silence? 

Hurting because of your superficial happiness? 

Why would I cry for what is not mine anymore? 

How could I cry for 

what is now a figment of my imagination? 

It’s because I’m no longer us. 

Now I laugh at what you cried for, 

I love what you hated, 

I dominate what you submitted to, 

and as of recently, honored myself. 

So, I cry for you because you weren’t strong enough to do it for us.  

I ignore the cold outside. 

I hold myself tight when I feel rough, 

and I take the deepest breaths possible. 

The discomfort is reassurance:  

reassurance of my strength, 

reassurance of my success, 

reassurance of our differences.