Every Morning

What purpose but LOVE stirs the soul?
Waking, working, sleeping, thinking, living, dying, all are physical acts, we are slaves to our own instinct until love makes us forget looming fatality and escape the constrictions of these cyclical patterns. If nothing happens when we die, at least I loved you.
At least I felt your breath and skin and alive in your eyes. At least we touched, at least we fought, at least we cried and screamed and bled and begged and held onto each other like we could stop the world from spinning. At least hitting you made me feel relieved and guilty and so many feelings I’m glad I felt.
I’m a loiterer in this world, lingering in the corners and crevices, holding onto hopeless memories haunting me like your shadow never left like you did. Like you didn’t pack it with your dresser and your spices.
He stayed and cast himself upon me like an apparition trapped in the corner of my eye, lurking me my whole life in every situation, in every bed it hovers me until I sleep it suffocated my dreams with nightly terrors of my regrets replayed on a loop in my tortured mind with metal surround sound and REM HD and when I wake up
Every
Morning
Feels like the very next day