They say that the best way to get over someone is to get under… the covers because you can bury a broken heart there in the shadows and the warm. When I ask where I’m supposed to put all this love they tell you into yourself, in little moments of self care because drinking fermented apples stirs up the hurting parts in your mind but this is the first green apple you’ve sunk your teeth into in months and the sweetness and the bitterness serve as another reminder of her…she never liked hers green anyway. They say if you take yourself to mindfulness classes to spend away some hours and work through the aches in your thighs that a magic chemical will kick in and work through the aches of loving her but that was always in the thighs too so maybe it’s the same. They tell you to make plans, to speak listen speak listen speak listen because soon you’ll find the right sounds, soon the crack you know is behind some of your voice will fade out and then you’ll learn how to not save up any stories in a habit of coming home and filling up the space that holds no ears but your own. They say soon, they say soon…you’ll come home and have no words left. That soon you’ll forget about how hard it is to rest unless there’s the weight of an arm across your waist to ground you in all this sleep. I have learnt that a girl cycles through herself in 28 days. That means I haven’t got long left until I’m at the beginning again, until I’ve hit a refresh. But for now, I know I cannot push away the wanting of being pressed against her ribs, of being crushed hard enough that everything in me clicks back into place. For now I can’t let go of the missing touches, my skin a live wire in it’s want of fingertips stroking some ease into nerve fibres, the pure yearning for healing lips as a last kiss upon a forehead. The withdrawals of touch will fade out slowly, and they say that nothing can placate that but the hands of time itself.