Are we going to be okay?
The nape of her neck throbbed
Twinged amidst the splicing lump in her throat.
Most times she tries to ignore it.
Breathing slowly,
A front lip fastening, moments out of reach,
too many missed calls, lost in contact, translation astray.
He smiled at her for nothing, his heart warmed
when she laughed.
Relics of a bygone phase, bated breaths needling
nerves, pricking her brain.
The heart pulsating and recoiling against her
chest, tingling and gnawing.
Every little bit turns into a yelling match.
Constantly hoping there are less rounds to go.
Are they good?
Is loving supposed to cause this much ache?