Empty Chair

You're too vivid. The image isn't prepacked with bubble-wrap to stop it from hurting. Your eyes soften as you whisper the words that were your last and your scent surrounds me in such a way that for a moment I'm certain that if I blink, you will really be there.

'Are you ready to begin your first session?' my therapist mumbles.

I stop myself from reaching out and stare at the empty chair, bracing myself for the hollowness inside that is already at its limit, to swallow me up until there's nothing left.

'I hate you so much. . .'