Idea for strings

I'm sitting here, staring at a blank screen and cannot hold back the tears and sharp tingles from overtaking my body. Images and home movies flood my mind and play on repeat behind my eyes lids. It's a twenty four hour special, and I'm on day 64. The torture sets in and I can almost hear your heart beat and feel you inhale, exhale. I crack a smile because the foreign feeling almost feels real. This routine has become my grave.  I can feel my heart becoming heavier, it’s become much more difficult to laugh at someone’s joke, smile back at strangers on public transportation, or even want to go out with friends; because it’s not you.  My heart aches, and I can't even talk to you about it. I can't express to you how much you've impacted my life and how much I really appreciated having you in my life and sharing experiences with me that I've never encountered with anyone else. I want so much for things to be as they were, when we'd tell each other all of our secrets and share our hopes and aspirations with one another. You were my best friend. You were my everything. Time and time again I write letters that were never intended on being delivered, writing them just helps with making me feel closer you somehow. When I reread the curves in my penmanship, it's like I can see the expressions on your face if you were reading the words with me; the frowns, sympathetic eyes, even the tightness in your lips when you read something you do not necessarily enjoy. The morning has now passed and the most I’ve done is respond to one email. I am a sloth. I am turtle moseying around on a Sunday afternoon. This is what I’ve become, a despondent human with heart ache that is unbearably taking over my sanity. It’s like I’m devoted to something that does not exist anymore. It’s a memory that I refuse to give up. And I refuse to give it up because it was the most real  thing I have ever felt and touched. And I feel like now I have fallen into a dream. My ritual of chasing after something that isn't there. Everything reminds me of you, every song. Every car that goes by. Every steak burrito with no beans or cheese. Extra salsa. I try and find your face in a crowd, and am always so disappointed when it can't be found. And yet at the same time I feel like I see your face everywhere, it's like you're somehow always with me. The shapes your mouth makes when you spill out words is so vivid. I can hear you say certain words and the pitch of your voice when you feel different emotions; they echo between my ears regularly. Even the crinkle in your now when you laugh at something hilarious, it feeds me joy to think of that. I love and I hate how I know all these things, feel these things, have lived these things. They are moments that no one else can experience or even slightly get a glimpse of. They are mine of you. Most days I stumble upon these ridiculously great songs that I immediately want to share with you. I want you to hear the rhythms and melodies that make me think of you, and I want you to know that you make me feel a way that only music can barely equivocate to; it makes me feel closer to you. I think to myself that you'd like it because I like it and I've never have had that feeling of glimpsing at someone's soul that way. I feel like this fog will never be lifted. This state of mind, missing you, feeling such a huge loss, will forever be apart of me. I feel like I'm constantly planning, constantly working out, constantly trying to fix what's broken.