Grab the Girl

I hope it hurts. 

Like a punch in the gut. 

Like a slow, bitter, ache. 

Like the chills and a fever. 

Like a sickness that is not bad enough to keep you from going to work,

But just bad enough to make you feel like shit all day.

I hope it hurts like that when you realize I’m gone. 

I hope when I’m gone,

The gleaming veneer of “I don’t need her” fades away.

That the slow gray days settle in,

That you’ll miss me in your coffee, 

In your in betweens,

In your late night musings.

I hope when I’m gone,

You will realize that you miss me.

The way my hair falls in my face.

The way I look at you before I tell you something serious.

The way I remember every detail of what you tell me.

I hope when I’m gone,

You will realize that I was not nothing to you,

But everything.

I hope when I’m gone,

You will notice you can’t just go on, 

But you have to run back,

And grab the girl, 

You can’t live without.

Grab the girl, 

Who is hurt,

Over you. 

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