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?