[1st piece of my incomplete book]

I gaze over at your sleeping body
Your chest rises and falls at a constant pace
Like the tides of the ocean
Bringing in new feelings and taking away the old
My breathing gets panicky
I can't sleep anymore
I grab my book and read without soaking in the meaning
I take the red pen out of the bedside table drawer
and circle "I can't do this."
I flip the pages to find what else I'm trying to say
"I'm sorry."
I leave my book in my place on the right side of the bed,
It doesn't feel right anymore.
I walk silently out the door
I grab my chest, but not for the pain of leaving you,
but for the pain I'm about to cause you
Part of me hopes you'll wake up and stop me,
but I'm already out the door.
My chest tightens, my palms are sweaty
I feel like I'm escaping out of myself
Breaking down the walls that kept me frozen solid for so long
I stare blankly back at the window we used to share
I feel cold
It's eighty degrees out
My palms are sweaty with the tears I'm unable to cry
I left my favorite book at your side
Thinking that somehow that will make up for everything
I know it won't.
I look back at the blank window as if your silhouette were there.
I put my hand over my mouth,
I whisper,
"I can't do this. I'm sorry."