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It’s over. I left her. She left me. I don’t know. Does it  even matter?

And so it ends. Another love. Another story.

Another dream dashed to the ground and beaten to a pulp.

All that’s left is a resounding silence. Punctuated by screams inside my head. Which I try drowning in very loud music.

But they’re persistent. These screams. As is the dull ache that refuses to go away.

Maybe it’s a good thing then that I’m too numb from shock, from disbelief.

I didn’t think this would happen. I certainly didn’t imagine, even in my worst nightmare, that it would be so ugly.

But well, nightmares have a way of outdoing your worst fears and coming true. In a way that dreams never do.

And I move from one kind of limbo to another.

From wondering whether or not she loves me, to wondering if anybody ever will. Enough to stay.

I wish people wouldn’t run out of love. Like they run out of tissue paper or gas.

I wish so many dreams weren’t reduced to ‘what-if’s.

I wish it hadn’t happened. To me. Again.