stage i: gut-wrenching sadness, overtaking almost every crevice of your insides. it won’t go away and you don’t want it to anyways. you gotta feel something, right? like the wood hitting your knees as you fall to the floor. that’s a feeling, isn’t it?
stage ii: resentment. oh god, you’re gonna feel his hand around your throat and want it worse. you’re gonna do it yourself. you’re gonna scream on the phone and cry on railroad tracks and break wooden beams because you don’t know what else to do about the fire in your chest. you can’t put it out with all this skin in the way.
stage iii: doubt. did that really just happen? surely he’ll turn the car around. it’s alright it’s fine he’s coming back i can hear his radio playing and it’s getting louder. this has to be a joke. please let it be a joke.
stage iv: laughter. holy shit, why is everything so funny? joke about death until you wonder if you’re serious. shrug it off and swear you aren’t. laugh so hard about the way things are falling until you choke on it. cough it back up. rinse and repeat.
stage v: looking backwards. see, the last time he smiled for a picture with me was september twenty-sixth. see, the last time we talked i didn’t say i love you back right away. see, see, see, this is my fault and oh god take me back to that time so i can fix it please let me fix it
stage vi: drunk. so drunk you forget how to be cold. you’ll put a cigarette out in your hair and throw an empty bottle at a wall and jump when it doesn’t break. you don’t need a chaser, you need more and it needs you like he doesn’t. oh fuck he doesn’t.
stage vii: nothing. your head doesn’t feel heavy anymore but your hands still shake all the same. and this is how it is. and this is what he wants. and this will be okay someday. i swear to god i’ll make it out alright.