every time i close my eyes i see his hotel room, even though i wasn't there. i see the bed made freshly that morning. i see the flat lifeless art on the walls, and the heavy curtains that touch the floor. i hear how fast your heart is beating; an anxious thump that mirrors my own when i am forced again to visit this hell. i see your body stripped down to its most fundamental. i see your tongue in his mouth. i see his hands on your chest. i see the words and worlds you shared, both smiling and shining and knowing that i am here bleeding and foetal and rotten. you told me you didn't fuck, but you made love.

i see the impenetrable thickness and density of the space between your glances when your eyes meet, and i hear the air rush around your limbs as your forms curl around and through each other in a dissolution of selves. i see time stop. i see the world ending everywhere except within this single space. nothing exists outside of it. i do not exist elsewhere, only in this terrible place. i am trapped here with the both of you and you are blind and deaf to me - to anything that isn't each other. you are consumed; focused on nothing else. if i was really here, i could set fire to it all and watch the both of you burn, but i am not here and so i am powerless.

it's been so long now, and i cannot find any food nor air nor peace nor even just one tiny corner to crawl into and escape from the ceaseless sounds of your love. made love. i hear you come. i watch you lie side by side in a gross mockery of how you and i lie. how we used to. all heavy breathing and glistening skin and empty thoughts as your hands find each other and your fingers intertwine like a microcosm of what your bodies have just done. i hear your phone vibrate and it's me, burning up and writhing in my bed at our home - because i am the one who caught fire - and i beg you to come back to me, but you never can. this room has no exit and we must all stay here for as long as it takes me to forget how much i love you.