PCB.

Where it should have been to begin with.

My head's pounding with everything and nothing. All that magic ceased, inches and stasis, all the stupid shit I never said and all the worthless shit that I did. Poisoning the rest of the world with my mind-numbing despair seems like a pretty reasonable idea. I can't reach ends, or find conclusions. I'm just sitting here watching the stereo display blink endlessly and trying to figure out how anyone can say they regret nothing and manage to sleep at night. I regret everything, and I still can't sleep.

Funny how you can never sleep when you really need to. When it's the only thing that makes sense.

The worst bit is the realization that eventually this is going to hit me like a ton of fucking bricks. After everything -- the words, the rituals, the phone calls, the consolation. After all of that, there I will be; alone, raw, bleeding, and howling on the floor. Flung into the darkness. Face to face with gravity. Pummeled with the knowledge that there will never be a Happily Ever After. Forced into understanding that the world is a cruel, terrible, and unfair place. Wrapped around the truth that nothing I do, mean, wish, or intend matters the least fucking bit.

Despite everything, I've generally been an optimistic person. I'm pretty good at warping my beliefs like a paperclip and fastening them to whatever the situation calls for. Tomorrow and tomorrow and all that.

This, however. This has been my Act II. My turning point. The plot never bothered to thicken. It just congealed, rotted, and shoved itself down my throat.

At some point, I am bound to come to grips with the fact that I will never see her again. That her light is extinguished. I will never get the chance to repay her for all the sacrifices she made for me; for everyone. The fact that she never got the chance to live the life that she always deserved -- one free of pain, strife, loss, and terror. She will have no golden years. She will not be around to see her grandchildren grow up.

Eventually I'll know that every milestone from here on out will be perpetually haloed in explicit sadness.
I'll know that, and wonder how I'm supposed to get on with my life. How I'm supposed to go to work in the morning. How I'm supposed to pay the cable bill. How I'm supposed to buy a Christmas tree. How I'm supposed to have a drink with my friends. How I'm supposed to ever let go.

My defense mechanisms are outstanding. But for all my inappropriate jokes, swift handling, good decisions, and arm squeezing ... at the end of the day, when everyone has been reassured and comforted, I'm left here remembering. Doubled over and dizzy. Gasping her name.

I wasn't strong enough to hold on. I couldn't keep her slipping.
And now it's all over.
I've lost my rock, my Gibralter.
My porchlight left burning.
The flag that waved me home.