Wrapped in melancholy

The city glowers at me and the yellow burns into my skin.
You speak,
But I can only see your lips move.
The crash and the clamour threaten to overwhelm me.
There are no thoughts,
Only a constant static in my head.
I teeter on the edge,
And my heart rattles frighteningly in my ribcage.
I want to talk but my lips seem glued together,
And my voice dismembers from the rest of my body.
I croak.
I stop.
I give in.
My vision blurs, my toe-ring twinkles at me from the darkness and my world stops making sense.

It hasn't sunken in, you know? Sometimes it hits me - when I see a book you've lent me sitting on my bookshelf, or when I look at my phone and remember that it's yours. It hits me when I hear Dave Matthews, and it hits me when I'm faced with some obscure existential dilemma, but you aren't waiting with the answer already figured out.

I need to believe that someday things will be alright - that we can go back to what we had, and that the magical switch of time will return to me my lost friendship.