What if I told you he took off my clothes like she did for you? If I told you he ignited a passion in me that I had forgotten about, would you survive it? If I told you I was bleeding as I wrote this, would you hand me a tissue or another beer? Comfort? I have left you out of sight and definitely in my mind. My thoughts now stream with anger like a river during a storm. It’s beautiful to see but difficult to endure. It takes everything with it, as you did to me. I’ve left the zone. No one called for help, even when I did. No one came. My tears are flooding the keyboard, like that river I told you about. I left you, my comfort, my zone. It hurt to leave as much as it hurt to stay. I laid my head here to sleep, my soul you kept and laughed as I wept. I felt your heartbeat close to mine, and even as we created love, I was the one who birthed it. I had to feed and care for my comfort. It bit me, and I bled. I wish you could hold me when I need it most, but the memories have turned me into a dustbowl of nothing. I can’t even take you with me. My winds have dwindled, and you have moved away from my desert. Don’t leave, don’t go. As far as comfort goes, this is home. The alcohol putrefied my veins after I convinced myself it was helping, distilling me and my impurities back to comfort. Even if it was for a minute, I wanted to taste your sweet sweat again. Salting my ocean, but really, it’s just your river, again.