O3 ANDREW GRAVES

The phone screen flashes for the hundredth time with the cold light of a cigarette, snatching someone else's, defiantly happy, photos from the darkness. Andrew takes a slow drag, looking at the way she smiles at him in the picture. At her new choice. At her perfect "now. "

My throat is bitter from the smoke and the stupid, burning jealousy. They say time heals, but that's a lie—it simply erases the edges of the wound, leaving a dull, aching emptiness inside.

"He's bathing you in chocolate..." the thought flashes through your head with a sharp, wicked grin. Indeed, the new boyfriend is damn good. Caring, proper, predictable. He's there twenty-four hours a day, surrounding you with attention, giving you what he, with his complex character and eternal inner demons, could never give. This new one takes you to resorts, kisses you goodnight, and makes plans for your old age together. The complete opposite of the chaos you were drowning in together.

Andrew stubs out his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray and leans his head back, closing his eyes. His mind's eye still flashes back to that very day, those very touches, and the ending they both worked so hard to bring about. Pure self-destruction. He wants to erase his memory, delete these damned memories, block all contact. But instead, his fingers open an empty dialogue.

The realization of one's own weakness hits hard. The other one loves you properly. But he simply... can't breathe without this destructive past.

My finger hovers over the send button, even though the input line is blank. Only the unspoken, muffled, ingrained: "I miss you so much. "